Spider's Dream
by The Moonlily
Summary: Who do you send when all the king's men and all the king's horses can't manage? A spider, obviously. Yet perhaps once in a while even a spider may need a hand.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Spider's Dream

 **Rating:** M

 **Pairings:** Éomer/Lothíriel

 **Genre:** Romance/Adventure/Drama

 **Summary:** Who do you send when all the king's men and all the king's horses can't manage? A spider, obviously.

 **Disclaimer:** The Lord of The Rings is the property of J. R. R. Tolkien and his estate. This is a work of fanfiction, written for the enjoyment of myself and others. No financial profit is made by writing this.

 **Author's Note:** Sometimes stories start in some unexpected ways. A while ago now I came across an image at tumblr. It was, as I gather, the cover for a Tolkien roleplay titled "Assassins of Dol Amroth" by Iron Crown Enterprises from 1987. I never investigated what the roleplay was like, but I was almost immediately inspired by the title. In the tags of my own reblog, I also revealed my idea: a story where princesses of Dol Amroth act as spies/assassins, and Ivriniel training Lothíriel in this trade. The cover of the roleplay even had a female assassin on it. I would link the post here, but you know how this site feels about links, but you might find it by googling.

I know, I know – it's a bold idea. But if by now I haven't proved my willingness to take on bold ideas, I truly do not what else I should do! Anyway, I dismissed the idea at the time, as I had other stories to work on, and right then I didn't really have a story to build around the setting. I even forgot about it for a while.

But after a while I came across that post again and I remembered what I had thought about it the first time round. And now a story began to form in my mind to flesh out the idea. Hence, this new fic was born. I have several chapters drafted, and I must say it's been a delightful thing to write! Éomer and Lothíriel adventuring together is always close to my heart, and I have such a weakness for the Battle Couple trope. I'm afraid Éomer won't appear in this first chapter, for there are a few things I need to establish first, but I promise he'll be in the next one!

Hope you enjoy, and if you got time, please let me know what you think!

* * *

 _"And the secret to freedom is courage."_

 _\- Thucydides_

* * *

 **Chapter 1  
**

 _What does a spider dream of?_

Lothíriel, daughter of Imrahil, would sometimes wonder about it. She knew spiders were not thought of as nice or noble creatures, fit for proud banners that would be carried before lords and princes. Most people she knew were disgusted with spiders. They were ugly, repulsive things - spawns of Ungoliant herself. Always they were associated with evil and shadow. As a small girl she agreed it was unpleasant to find one scurrying under her bed, but when she grew older and her life took some unexpected turns, it occurred to her that if _she_ should have a banner, it would have to be a spider.

For in time, she would learn about as much of finding shelter in shadow and weaving webs so fine and deceitful that it was close to an art form. A spider was a creature that came quietly in the night and was so deadly because no other thing under the Sun and Moon knew more about deception. If spiders could talk she imagined she and one of them would probably find a lot of things they had in common.

She never knew what a spider dreams of before she met _him._

* * *

Lothíriel came into the world on a night when winter's storm raged outside the walls of Amrothian princes.

Aunt Ivriniel took it as a sign, for the evening had been calm and quiet until a storm wind picked up from the sea and threw its wrath against the land in a sudden bout, and she said that her niece lived in the fine edge of the blade that was between light and shadow, calm and chaos, life and death. But Father thought it was her trade that made aunt say things like that. Plenty of superstition seemed to go into her view of the world.

Though Lothíriel herself wouldn't know it for many years to come, she had been chosen the very night she was born.

In the castle by the Great Sea, the days of her childhood went by fast and as full of sunlight as her mother's most joyful songs. She ran with her brothers in games and mischief, played at the beach, explored in the palace and its lush gardens, and knew little of the lands beyond the city of Dol Amroth. Surely the shadows from outside hardly fell over her small, happy world, which was ruled by a simple conviction: her tall, strong father was capable of keeping out and fighting any evil that might come stalking at night.

But her aunt was often away, and if she should ask where her father's sister was, Mother would tell her that _"_ _aunt is away on a mission_ _"_. In those days, such answer was more than enough. And when Aunt returned home, it was with tales from farthest corners of Gondor, or even beyond – though it always took effort to persuade her to share them. Once, she came back and gifted Elphir with an Umbarian dagger that shined blindingly with the many jewels set in it. It would be some time before Lothíriel would know the reason for these journeys, and with her childish innocence, she announced that one day, she too would travel far and wide, like her Aunt.

Perhaps that was the reason the tall, noble-faced woman chose to spend more time with her than with her older brothers, telling her about the places she had seen. However, soon she would be gone again, and the little princess would inquire about her absence, receiving once more that same answer from her mother.

She never grew to the age when this response would cease to satisfy her; for she got her reply sooner than she was ready to understand what it truly meant, and at the time, her dear, beloved Mother was already gone.

Life in the palace of princes was never quite the same after Mother had passed away, but time has a tendency of healing wounds, and Lothíriel still had the resilient heart of a child. Even so, in after days the sun did not shine quite as brightly as when Mother had lived, and shadows of the world grew a little darker. And when her brothers became ever busier with their lessons and their battle training, she knew in her heart, though she was but a little girl, that things were changing.

It was not long before her sixth birthday that one night, Aunt Ivriniel was brought into the palace, badly hurt. The hour was late when it happened, and at once she knew she wasn't supposed to see it: Father's second in command leading the way with a candle in his hands, the rustling of healers' garbs, the Swan Knights carrying the bier, and Father hurrying by the side of it... Lothíriel was well aware she ought to be in bed at this time, but the storm outside had kept her awake, and so she had left her bed to slip into Amrothos' chamber. The youngest of her brothers always slept like a log, and he didn't mind her company on the nights she couldn't fall asleep alone.

But as she was sneaking through the dark gallery, trying not to pay attention to the statues of her ancestors that looked so eerie at night, she heard urgent voices speaking down in the hall. The little princess could make out her father among them and her curiosity was wakened. So she tiptoed to the edge of gallery and peeked down into the hall, and there she saw the company around the bier. In the light of candles and torches, she saw their grave faces and the blood that stained the mass of cloth around her aunt's midsection.

A startled little gasp escaped her mouth as she stared at this scene, and then she ran for her brother's room, unsure of whether her nightmare was still continuing or not.

She was still shivering when she slipped under the blankets in Amrothos' bed, and her brother let out a mighty snore before he cracked open one eye.

"Bad dream, little sister?" he mumbled drowsily.

"Yes. I think so", she whispered and curled up, trying to warm her cold feet and hoping that by morning, what she had seen would simply have become a nightmare.

It was the first she began to suspect her aunt lived another life along with the one she had in the court of her father the Prince Imrahil.

* * *

It was quite possible that the thing she had seen that previous night would have troubled her and gnawed at her thoughts, hadn't Father told them the next morning that Aunt Ivriniel was back, and she was not well.

Hearing this statement, Lothíriel's brothers rapidly shot a series of questions at their sire, who had hard time keeping up with them. But she sat quietly and thought about what she had seen last night, and she wondered why her aunt had got so badly hurt.

Eventually, she asked one question: "Will she be all right, Ada?"

Her father and brothers fell silent. Elphir and Erchirion looked both very solemn, but Amrothos' eyes were burning. All four of them stared at Father.

"I have faith she will be. Your aunt is tenacious and strong, more so than you know, my children", he said at length, speaking softly and seriously.

"Can I see her?" asked the little princess, looking up at the strong, beloved face of her father.

"When she is feeling better", he answered and reached to brush his fingers across her cheek in a gentle gesture. There was a look then in his eyes that she did not understand, and would not in some time. Perhaps some part of him already knew – had always known.

Aunt was slow in recovery, and it was many days before any of her brother's children were allowed to see her. When at last Lothíriel was admitted to visit her aunt, it was for five minutes, and it looked like the injured woman only opened her eyes once to regard her. Chewing her lip between her teeth, the little princess left a vase of flowers she had picked from the gardens next to the bed, hoping their colourful splendour would cheer up her aunt and help the woman to heal sooner.

Be it with the aid of flowers or the arts of Father's healers, the danger on Aunt's life passed eventually, and after a while, one could see her taking short strolls outside the palace. She was pale still and her face was narrower than usually, and Lothíriel felt like at times she could see a strange, hollow look in the eyes of the tall woman. But when she came to the gardens to watch her play with her brothers or with the other children in the palace, the young princess might occasionally spy a smile on Aunt Ivriniel's face, and she thought maybe her kinswoman was getting better, body and spirit.

It was some two weeks later that Lothíriel overheard the conversation between her Father and Aunt Ivriniel. She was not trying to eavesdrop – she was simply holed up in her favourite place during a game of hide and seek. It was the branch of a high tree, with leaves growing so thick and vigorous that one could easily sit there and remain unnoticed. Granted, it took some skill and agility to be able to climb up to the wide, steady branch, and her brothers rarely had the patience to keep looking for so long that they would discover this hiding place.

Curled up on the branch and listening to the sounds of shouts afar as Amrothos rummaged through the garden in search of other players, Lothíriel did not at first hear the sounds of steps on the gravel. On the other hand, her aunt always walked so light and silent that it seemed like her feet made minimal noise even on such ground. But then a pair of heavier feet made contact with the path, and the little princess startled on her seat. Thankfully it was so steady that she was not in danger to fall, or expose herself.

"What is it you wanted to talk about, sister?" Father's voice asked. Lothíriel peered down through the leaves and wondered if she should announce herself somehow – her old nurse was always telling her how impolite it was to eavesdrop on conversations. But if she did, she would have to explain how and why she was in the tree, and it was sure to make Father decide no climbing was allowed in the gardens.

"I have been thinking, Imrahil", Aunt said, softly and thoughtfully. "My... _accident_ has rather put things into perspective. If I should die now, there would be no one left to carry on my work."

"You still have many good years left in you. And you are usually much more careful", Father said warily, as though he already suspected what the conversation was about. Lothíriel huddled silently on her branch, trying to understand what they were talking about and finding little sense in it.

"And it's all the more reason for me to choose my successor when there is still time", Aunt stated solemnly. She cleared her throat and spoke, "I think it's time Lothíriel started her training."

"You can't be serious, Ivriniel", Father said, almost barking out the words. "I don't want my daughter to... to do what you do!"

"She is quick, she is clever, and I've seen her running and climbing around in the gardens. She has a gift, Imrahil", Aunt answered calmly. But Lothíriel grew even more confused. What were they talking about? What did her father's sister mean when she said the little princess had a gift?

"But she is just a child!" Father protested. The gravel beneath his shoes crunched as he paced around, but Aunt stood still like a statue.

"I was her age when I started, Imrahil. And the younger she begins, the better she will learn", she said. She sounded so determined, as though she had already decided how this discussion would turn out.

"Ivriniel, I cannot allow this", Father said. Why did he sound so pained? Lothíriel frowned to herself. What was this training they were talking about, and why was he so against it? Surely her learning new things would be good for her? Maybe Aunt wanted her to become a Knight, like her brothers.

"Cannot, or won't? Look around yourself, brother. We do not live in a world where we can afford to be sentimental. I'm not going to live forever and years are already gaining on me. I'm not as quick and agile as I once was. Soon I will lose my edge, and what would you have us do then? Lothíriel the only female of her generation, Imrahil. Soon enough she will be needed, and then you'll be sorry you didn't let me train her", Aunt stated, almost as though she was accusing him of something. Through the leaves, Lothíriel could see her father flinch.

"You could teach Amrothos or Erchirion", he said at length. This only bewildered the little princess more: her brothers were already training. So it was not to become a Knight!

"They're already too old, their heads too full of nonsense that would get them killed in this trade. Their skills will be better used among soldiers on battlefields. No, Imrahil – this is something only a Princess of Dol Amroth can do. You know just as well as I do why that is", Aunt said firmly. A soft little gasp left Lothíriel's mouth, but she covered it hastily. Something told her this was not a conversation she was supposed to hear.

Father didn't seem to have heard anything, but Aunt lifted her eyes and scanned her surroundings with sharp eyes. For a second it felt as though the woman could see through the leaves of the tree and their gazes locked, but then Princess Ivriniel looked away once more.

The space below trees was silent again. Father had stopped pacing and he stood quietly, his back towards Lothíriel so that the princess could not tell what expressions were passing on his face. She wondered why he was so against this "training" Aunt spoke of. It sounded very important to the young princess.

Her frown deepened. What was it exactly that her Aunt _did?_

"I suggest you think about it, Imrahil. Your daughter could help to save a lot of lives. This city will need her", Aunt Ivriniel said at last. Down below, Lothíriel could see her resting one hand on Father's shoulder, and then the tall woman strode off, leaving behind two family members who were probably left equally uneasy by the conversation that had just taken place.

* * *

Lothíriel did not forget about the confrontation she had witnessed that day in the gardens. It was often on her mind on the days that followed, and more she thought about it, the more she had questions. How she would have loved to go to her father and ask for the truth! However, doing so would reveal she had been eavesdropping, and she didn't want him to be angry with her. Fortunately for her, Father did not keep it to himself for longer than three days.

After breakfast, when her brothers were noisily exiting their family's private dining hall and Amrothos was complaining about not wanting to train today, their sire spoke her name and asked her to stay behind.

"What is it, Father?" she asked him as she approached him. She noted there were shadows underneath his eyes, like he had not slept well in many days.

"Come and walk with me, daughter. There is something I would like to talk about with you", he said and gestured her to follow.

They stepped out into the hallway. Bright morning's light was streaming in through the great windows; it was going to be a beautiful day. No matter how eerie this place could be at night, in daylight it was rather lovely.

"Lothíriel, what do you know about your aunt's missions?" Father asked her at length as they strolled down the hall.

"She says it's her task to protect our city", Lothíriel recited what her aunt had told her once. Granted, she didn't exactly know what that meant, but she assumed her father's sister was doing good things. Maybe she went out together with the Swan Knights?

Father let out a small sigh and he was silent for a while.

"It's a bit more complicated than that, dauhgter", he said in a quiet voice. "Perhaps I should let her explain that part. But the important thing is that she wants to teach you to become like her."

The little princess looked up at her father sharply.

"So I would get to fight orcs, too, like my brothers?" she asked eagerly. Often she had watched her brothers sparring and wanted to join them, and become a Knight. But just as often they dismissed her, telling her she was too small and couldn't keep up. However, if she had Father's blessing, then her brothers would have to comply!

She remembered the conversation she had accidentally heard. Judging by what her aunt and father had said to one another, this training did not sound like it prepared Knights.

"Not exactly. What she does is... different. She will explain", Father said, and she saw him frowning. "Do you want it, Lothíriel? The choice is yours. I will not make you do anything. Do you wish to become like your aunt, or spend your days in peace?"

"I want to be like Aunt. I want to defend the city, too", the little princess stated determinedly. It sounded much better than the alternative, and then she could show her brothers!

Father sighed again.

"I'm not convinced you are old enough to make this choice", he said slowly, gazing at her in a way that was almost sorrowful. "But she insists you must begin now or never, and... perhaps years will give you wisdom in this matter. I know that Ivriniel is right in one thing. Dol Amroth and Gondor will need someone to carry on her work. And it is our duty to defend these shores and keep our people safe. Often it asks us to make sacrifices. Why would you be any different than your brothers?"

The latter part of his words sounded like he was thinking out loud. But his face now seemed even more sad, and he got down on one knee so that he could hug her.

"So be it. May Nienna forgive me if I am wrong to allow this."

* * *

The young princess expected her father to take her to Aunt Ivriniel straight away. However, before sending her to her first lesson of the day with her teachers, Father said she would come to Lothíriel in her own time.

"She does things in her own way. You will see", Father simply said before kissing her cheek quickly and pushing her gently on the back.

She didn't learn much that day during her lessons. Her mind was fixed on the conversation with her father, and the one she wasn't supposed to know about. What was Aunt thinking now? Was she happy that Lothíriel wanted to be trained? What would it be like, and what had Father meant when he had said the way Aunt contributed to defending the city was different? The young princess could scarcely wait till she could get an answer to these questions, much to the frustration of her schoolmaster, who was supposed to be teaching her the history of Eldacar, King of Gondor that day.

Her own anxiety grew steadily towards the evening, but her aunt made no appearance, and she didn't join the rest of the family for dinner. Father was quiet that night, but her brothers took care of conversation – or rather, their noise was best described as bickering. Only Elphir seemed to notice something was off, but he said nothing.

Lothíriel was sure she wouldn't be able to sleep that night. Her mind was still racing when her nurse had left the chamber and quiet had fallen. Her imagination had long since left behind any attempt to stay reasonable, and she was fast picturing herself fighting alongside Elven warriors and taking down dragons.

It was in the middle of these feverish thoughts that she fell asleep, though the dreams that followed were hardly any more tranquil. But they did not go on for long, because a pair of hands shaking her shoulders wakened her to the still hour of night.

The young princess startled awake, gasping at the abrupt ending of her sleep. Blinking her eyes, she saw a dark figure above herself, but before she could scream, the shape lifted a lantern to give them some light. It was Aunt Ivriniel.

"Get dressed and follow me, child", Aunt spoke in a quiet voice and she straightened up.

"Where are we going?" Lothíriel asked as she struggled to stand up and find something to dress in.

"You'll see. Now make haste", was the simple answer, and the young princess quickly found herself a simple dress and a pair of slippers.

Aunt lead the way outside. She carried the lantern in one hand but held it low as they passed through the dimly lit hallways of the palace. They passed only a few night guards on the way, but they paid them little to no attention. Maybe they were used to seeing Aunt wander around at strange hours. This would not have surprised Lothíriel, not after the last few days and the conversation she had eavesdropped on.

The night was cool, but not unbearably so. The waxing moon rode across the starlit sky and down below the fortress, sea whispered gently against the rock. All was quiet and well in Dol Amroth.

Aunt steered them all the way to the outer courtyard, and once there, she headed for the one door Lothíriel would rather have left unopened. She usually avoided this place if she could; the last time she had been there had been after her mother had died. People rarely went there, anyway. It was not a door to a happy place.

The young princess bit her lip and fought against the urge to ask if they really needed to go this way. However, Aunt's posture was straight and determined, and instinctively she knew she couldn't be craven now. Either she kept her mouth shut and followed, or went back to the bed and forgot this had ever happened.

"Come along, Lothíriel", Aunt said as she opened the door. The rusty hinges creaked and a current of damp air hit their faces as the woman revealed the doorway that was as dark as though it was an opening into the Night itself.

Aunt Ivriniel stepped inside, fearless and resolute, but Lothíriel hesitated for a second before following the tall woman. Now she lifted the lantern, lighting the way down: the stairs lead deep into darkness. They began to descend.

The stairs had been hewn into the rock itself and they seemed to go on forever, into the very heart of the earth. It was very quiet for a while, and one could easily imagine in this place that shadow had swallowed the world, leaving nothing but this unending descent. But eventually, the darkness grew a little lighter and there was some noise again. Then they reached the bottom, where a long corridor started.

Light came inside through cracks and vents, and so did the voice of the sea. Eerily it echoed in the vaults as though these deep halls were full of whispering voices. How could anyone rest peacefully here? Lothíriel shivered and wrapped her arms around herself.

"Don't be afraid, child. This is possibly the safest place in all of Dol Amroth. There's no one here but the dead", Aunt spoke softly. How she knew what her niece was thinking and feeling, the young princess couldn't tell, as the woman hadn't even turned to look at her.

They reached the first statue. It was a tall man, dressed in long flowing robes and wearing a jewel on his brow. His face was noble and one of his hands was before him, palm up as though he was holding something. Wisdom and sadness had been carved into his features with such skill one might even wonder if some Dwarven smith had made it.

The two continued their journey, passing by countless statues, and long dark corridors that lead deep into the rock. But eventually, Aunt chose one hallway. The line of statues was shorter there, and somehow they all looked very similar. They wore the same simple, unadorned gown, and few of them had jewellery on them. Soon enough Lothíriel noticed another thing that they shared: all of them had the same small dagger: one was holding it on their palm, the other was pulling out of their sleeve. There was one who had aimed it at their own heart.

"Who are they, Aunt?" Lothíriel asked in growing wonder. She had never seen this line before.

"They are those who have no name in our land. Few remember them, for there are no songs about the things they did. But they were some of the bravest that have lived on these shores, and many of them sacrificed much to help protect Dol Amroth and Gondor", answered Aunt, her voice deeply reverent as she looked upon the faces carven in stone. "Do you notice something special about them?"

"They are all women", said the young princess.

"Indeed. These are women of the House of Dol Amroth – princesses and noble ladies by birth, but champions of our people by their deeds. These are our predecessors, Lothíriel. They went where armies couldn't march and found ways through walls that would keep strongest warriors at bay. By taking to themselves the faces of washer women, peasants, harlots and queens, they listened and saw things that no one else could have discovered. And at times, they wielded that dagger to end a threat before it could reach the gates of Dol Amroth. Child, these women are the Ladies of the Hidden Blade", Aunt Ivriniel answered. Briefly she bowed her head, as though one who has just finished praying to the Powers. Though she was still young, Lothíriel felt like her aunt wasn't talking about these women in the way Father spoke of his predecessors. Rather, she spoke of them as if the high priestess of some strange cult might speak of spirits and gods she worshipped.

Even Lothíriel listened in wonder and gazed at the stone faces of this tribe of women she had never heard existed. If they had done such wonderful things, why hadn't she heard about them before?

"But how come no one ever speaks about them?" she wanted to know and looked up at the tall woman by her side.

"Because we are a secret. If our enemies knew about us, who we are and where we come from, then we wouldn't be able to do our work. This is our most valuable disguise, Lothíriel, and it's the foundation for all other disguises we wear. To the world, we are simply Princesses of Dol Amroth", Aunt said as she put down her lantern on the smooth stone floor. Then she lowered herself down so that their faces were on the same level.

"This is the choice given to you, child. If you wish, we may return to the palace, and I escort you to your chambers. Then you lay down to sleep, and we never speak of this night again. However, if you would like to learn more about who these women were, and if you want to become one of them, then I will teach you", Aunt Ivriniel spoke solemnly. Her features were impassive, but her grey eyes burned very brightly. The young princess had never seen such intensity about her father's sister.

But whatever it meant, she was too excited to dwell on it for too long.

"Yes, Aunt. I would like to learn."

* * *

So began her training.

Half of it was that of a princess, half was to become a Lady of the Hidden Blade. Former she endured and the latter she rejoiced in – at first, in any case. Beforehand, she much expected to be like that of her brothers, but was soon proven wrong: there were no long hours in the training grounds with a master at arms shouting commands, or sparring with Aunt. Rather, the tall woman had her climbing and swimming and running and balancing. She paid close attention to movement, almost to the point where Lothíriel had to learn how to walk again. This was the hardest part, and it took a lot of sweat and tears for the young princess to begin to understand her own body in the way that, as Aunt said, would allow her to become light and swift enough.

"You are a ghost, child. You _want_ to be a ghost, because the places you'll be going to are not the kind where you'd like to get caught", Aunt said sternly when she had the girl standing on the edge of a fence, using only one foot. The tall woman was fond of taking her to most difficult places in the city, having her climb over the slimy and wet rocks on the beach and telling her to complete difficult tasks while trying to distract her in every way possible.

"Always pay attention to your surroundings, girl! When you master your environment, it becomes your ally. If you know how to use it, then you have an edge over the strongest warrior", Aunt explained to her when she was climbing up from a tide pool, covered in sea weed.

Part of the training was dancing practice, though usually it was dances from other lands. Hitting the floor of the gallery with a cane, Aunt barked directions relentlessly, while Lothíriel tried to keep up and not get her feet tangled. When she stumbled and the tall woman ordered her to get up, she looked defiantly at her.

"Why are we practicing dancing? I already know all the court dances", she complained and climbed up on her feet.

"Dancing is a very good way to learn to control your movement. You don't yet understand the edge it gives to you. And knowing a few dances from other countries can come in very useful when you need to blend in. Again!" Aunt answered and began to beat the floor once more with the cane. The young princess sighed and followed directions, though she wondered if she would ever be putting any of this to use.

When there was battle training, it was not what she expected. Much of what Aunt taught her was avoiding, dodging and parrying – and using her opponent's strength against them. When Lothíriel asked why wasn't she being trained like her brothers, Aunt looked at her coolly.

"I'm not training you to become a warrior. You will participate no charges or go to battlefields. You are the Hidden Blade that stabs in the dark, and I'm trying to make sure that you will know how to survive", she stated sternly.

"But there is no honour in that", the young princess pointed out, frowning as she did. In the stories her mother and nursemaid used to tell her, the heroes and heroines were bright and shining and their deeds honest. They didn't go creeping in the dark, but stood with their proud banners and threw their defiance against their enemies.

"Honour never saved anyone's life, Lothíriel. It is a concern for men and children. Women, those of our line especially, do what they must", Ivriniel stated and had her going through one particularly difficult set of stances once more. The young princess complied, but her heart was troubled. This was a side of her father's sister she had never known existed.

It was hard work. The style Aunt was teaching her required high level of agility and control, and so the princess began to understand why the dance lessons were so important. Yet no matter how much she tried, Aunt rarely seemed pleased and was always pushing her beyond her limits, and the woman's voice even barked in her dreams: _"Harder! Harder!"_

Eventually, all the work started to pay off. Lothíriel became stronger and faster than she had ever thought possible. She learned the ways of the sword, not like her brothers but in a fashion that she would not be left helpless if a situation ever came that she found a blade directed at her. Daggers became alive in her hands and she began to understand them more as extensions of herself than simply lifeless objects. And they found their marks with precision that even managed to make her aunt smile on an occasion – a most uncommon occurrence and highest reward of those days in Lothíriel's young life.

Just as important were the things she was taught indoors. She studied the customs of peoples that lived beyond the borders of Gondor, the policies of their rulers and laws ordaining their lives. Much of these lessons came from Aunt Ivriniel herself, as she had spent time among foreign tribes of Men. She also insisted Lothíriel to have lessons to learn various languages the Prince's children usually did not learn, and some of them her aunt had to teach herself. So Lothíriel was taught the tongue of Haradrim and she learned to recognise different accents. Aunt even knew a little of Northmen's language and Rohirric, too. In serious tones, the tall woman told her how the key to a convincing disguise was being able to command the language of those one wished to deceive.

And like Lothíriel rather guessed from this statement, disguises were to be a part of her training.

"You must know how to blend in. To do this, you need to know how to make yourself look and sound like someone else", said Aunt, and that was the start of another complex set of lessons. Seated in the older woman's private parlour, Lothíriel watched Aunt Ivriniel as she changed between characters and roles. Her wonder grew when she saw all the little ways that her teacher was able to alter herself, from her hair to her attire, her speech to the way she walked – even her expressions played a part. It appeared her father's sister could convincingly pretend to be at least a dozen different women, each with distinct life histories and mannerisms.

"Come up with a story. Make it something you could believe in. If you do, then it will be easier to make others believe it, too", said her aunt as the woman washed ash from her face. She had just appeared in the guise of a crippled beggar, and her act had been so heartbreaking Lothíriel had almost believed it herself. Sternly the tall Princess looked at her, "But remember this: you must avoid getting attention, and don't let your vanity get better of you. If you are noticed, your disguise becomes useless."

Soon enough Lothíriel learned that disguises were best described as an artform. It was not just how one dressed, it was also how one spoke and moved. Her dancing lessons and hours spent learning languages took yet another meaning, and she also found her more formal education as a princess was useful as well. Women of noble birth used powders and kohl to make themselves beautiful; the Lady of the Hidden Blade could use them as her armour.

It was half a game to Lothíriel: trying to come up with a disguise so good that even her aunt would be fooled. It would take her years to actually accomplish.

While her lessons were intense, and along with her official education they kept her busy from dawn til dusk, they were interrupted at times when Aunt Ivriniel left the city. In the first days of her training she was not told the reason for this, but eventually she came to know it was because Aunt was still occupied with the tasks of the Hidden Blade. She was young no more, and yet she still went on these missions, perhaps because the blood of Númenor and their Elven ancestress kept her agile and strong unlike other mortal men. Even then, as years grew on Lothíriel's shoulders and she began to understand more of what was going around her, she also started to understand the look of worry that appeared on Father's face whenever Aunt left the city.

It only deepened when the young princess spoke up: "Father, I could do it. Aunt has been training me."

"You are not ready yet, daughter. You don't know what awaits you there", said Father, shutting down her hopes at once. Even so, Lothíriel wondered if she had been so wrong at all, when Aunt Ivriniel returned from her last mission with an injury so bad it left her with a permanent limp.

Not long after, Lothíriel was invited to the sickroom, where her aunt was recovering from her ailment. The woman seemed more frail and weak than the young princess had ever seen her, and yet the old fire burned in her eyes as strong as ever.

"The spirit is willing but my body is not", Aunt said, coughing up the words with some difficulty. "That is our lot, child: to get old and weak. That is why the mantle is passed on. But you are not ready yet. There are still things I need to teach you before you can go and face the world."

But the world was becoming darker. The older Lothíriel grew, the more there was danger in the world; Aunt was too old and weakened to fight it, she was too young and inexperienced to do anything about it. The hour was even later than Aunt Ivriniel had guessed when she had started to train her niece.

There were still a few lessons left, and one of them took place when Lothíriel was fifteen years old.

Aunt took her to Minas Tirith, the City of Kings as it was called, though no king had ruled there in a very long time. Yet the people there seemed to await for a time he'd return, as though it was somehow possible that such a man might emerge from the mists of time. Her uncle Denethor and cousin Boromir expected no such thing, but Faramir had a strange kind of hope; Aunt Ivriniel told her not to dwell on it over much. If she had opinions on the politics and court intrigue, she never spoke of them to her pupil.

"It is all the same for us whether there is a king in the land or not", Aunt said as they travelled to the lower levers, riding one of the veiled carriages Aunt preferred now that she walked with a limp. Lothíriel knew they would have walked if things had been otherwise. If her mentor hated something, it was losing her strength and agility.

"Who would we serve, if there was a king in the land?" she asked the older woman.

The question brought the slightest twitch to her aunt's face. Among the people she knew, Aunt Ivriniel was the absolute master of controlling her emotions, and even Lord Denethor, for all his subtlety, could not compete with her.

"It is no matter. We serve the realm", Aunt answered simply and peered out. They were down to the fourth level of the city now, and the houses were not quite as fine or grand as up on the sixth level, where her father's town house was located. But it was still respectable enough – at least to her eyes.

They turned away from the main road and then took another turn, while Lothíriel gazed out with growing curiosity. The further they travelled from the main road, the greater was her distance from the world she had known until now. She knew this was something she would have to become familiar with if she was to follow in the footsteps of her aunt, but even so, she couldn't help the wonder she felt. It was one thing to train for this shadowy path – another entirely was to actually _walk_ it.

At last, her aunt knocked thrice on the wooden panel of the carriage. They had now driven to a deep, narrow street, far from the main road that lead up to the Citadel. Next to them, there was a nondescript building that looked like most of the houses of the White City. One thing there was that set it apart: crimson veils covered the windows. It was a most unusual colour, Lothíriel thought to herself – decadent almost.

Aunt looked at Lothíriel, her eyes sharp and demanding.

"You must go inside. There's a lady waiting for you", she sated firmly.

"What kind of a lady?" asked Lothíriel with a slight frown.

"A lady of the night", answered Aunt Ivriniel as she settled down more comfortably on her seat.

But the younger woman gazed at her in surprise and horror. How in the name of Elbereth could her aunt bring her here!

"Aunt! You can't be serious!" she exclaimed, glancing between the face of her mentor and the doorway of the house. It was much like any building in this part of the city, and yet Lothíriel had never considered there were these kind of houses in the White City.

"Oh, but I am. Don't worry, child. You only need to listen to what she tells you. It's like any other lesson with your schoolmaster", Aunt said, waving her hand dismissively. How could she take it so easily?

"But... but..." Lothíriel said, seeking for the proper words but not quite finding them. She was not ready for this.

However, her aunt thought she was very much ready.

"I know, child. It's the training of a noble lady in you that resists. But Lothíriel, this is a valuable lesson. It could save your life. It could help you to get information you won't otherwise be able to obtain. Consider it as you would consider sword-play – only, the weapon is your body, your charms, and your knowledge of how to use them. You see, men can be so simple-minded. Sometimes they think more with their balls than with their brain. If you know how to control their desires – if you can make them to _want_ you, then you have an opening", Aunt explained. Her eyes were eager and deep as she said these things, as though this was a lesson she had long awaited to deliver. Be that as it may, it had awakened Lothíriel's interest, though she was also rather embarrassed at the woman's choice of words.

The young princess thought about this, her brow knitting. Maybe there was a lesson to be learned here.

"So, it's just like another disguise?" she asked, her voice slightly doubtful.

"Precisely", Aunt Ivriniel said with a faint smile. "It could be the most powerful disguise you're ever going to learn. Go inside, and you will see."

"Very well", said Lothíriel, curious and bold in a way she had never felt before. Wondering what she would learn once she got there, she stepped outside.

* * *

Not long after, they returned to Dol Amrohth.

Lothíriel felt like what was left of her innocence had been discarded back in Minas Tirith, right at the doorstep of that pleasure house she had visited to learn how to seduce and entice men. Not that she rued the knowledge she had acquired there, but there were moments she missed the bliss of ignorance. For what she had learned in the house of crimson veils seemed to confirm all that Aunt had taught her about the harsh realities of the world, and the passing of her naïve innocence was not painless.

Be that as it may, Aunt Ivriniel seemed to consider she was almost ready. She had trained and trained and trained, and she had learned how to distract and deceive. It was time.

There was one last thing to do. The second night after their return to the city by the sea, Aunt appeared by her bedside once more. Lothíriel felt like the child she had once been when her father's sister told her to get up and follow.

This time, they didn't go to the crypt below the fortress. Instead, her aunt lead her down to the shore of the sea, walking as determinedly as ever in spite of her limp; her lean, strong body still retained its grace. The young princess followed, eager and full of wonder for what awaited her there. At this time, she regarded her aunt as high as Elbereth.

They reached the shore at last. The tide was rising and the surf was loud, licking the shore as though to overcome it. The moon was half full and it rode high, giving enough light to this night of Ladies of the Hidden Blade. Once again, Aunt wore that face as Lothíriel had seen only once before; but now they were not walking in a grave.

"Step into the sea, child", Aunt commanded as they stood upon the shore. And Lothíriel obeyed, the way she had so many times done. She walked there until the waters reached her waist, listening to the voice of her aunt.

"Warriors call upon the names of Oromë and Tulkas, to sharpen and guide their blades, to make their horses fast, to let their arms grow strong and guard them in battle. But we, my child, we call upon Mandos the Doomsman, and we invoke Irmo's name so that he might let us pass in shadow and silence", Aunt Ivriniel spoke, high and dark, as she had spoken to her in the first days of her training. Then she had not understood, and she still didn't. Perhaps she would only see this when she was fully accepted.

"We call upon Mandos", Lothíriel said, raising her eyes to the starlit skies that Elbereth ruled, "We invoke the name of Irmo."

"Indeed", Aunt said, and then she pushed her head under water.

She struggled. How was her aunt so strong even when she was crippled? Yet her hand was unyielding and hard, and the only time Lothíriel reached the air was when she was allowed.

There was a voice: "Give yourself to the sea, child."

Remembering all that had been taught to her, all that she knew, Lothíriel _let go._ She stopped struggling, though all her senses protested; she ought to be fighting back to reach the surface! But she let her body become limp, let her aunt's hand push her below.

It was then she was pulled up. Gasping she emerged, as though a newborn babe from the womb of her mother.

Above her, Aunt stood, firm as an oak. On her face there was a triumphant smile.

"You are ready."

 _To be continued._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

 _June 3020 Dol Amroth_

After long, arduous months in the Mark, it occurred to Éomer that visiting Dol Amroth was the perfect way to forget about his many concerns for a little while.

The winter back in his land had not been easy, even though weathers had been milder than usually and they had been able to save more from the harvest than Éomer had expected at first. The provisions Aragorn had sent to help Rohirrim to get through the worst of it had come to a great need, but they could not make up for burned homes or working hands that had been stilled forever on the great battlefields of the Ring War.

But eventually, spring came again, rebuilding of homes was started, and the foaling season proved to be exceptionally good. There was some hope in the land again and Éomer kept telling himself that with hard work, his people could pull through this time and recover. It was a difficult time also because of personal reasons: as soon as the snows melted and weathers grew fairer, the wedding of Éowyn and Faramir took place in Meduseld. When she was gone, the young king felt more alone than he ever had.

As such, visiting friends in Gondor came as a welcome interruption; he spent a few days in Mundburg and then some more in Emyn Arnen as a guest to Éowyn and Faramir. And, considering he was halfway there, he decided to finally claim Imrahil's invitations and pay him a visit in the city by the sea. The Prince had renewed his invitation several times during the winter, making Éomer wonder how much of it was because Éowyn's gentle pressure through Faramir. Though she didn't say it straight in her letters, he was very well aware of how much she worried about him shouldering the duties of a king, which were all the more demanding as long as the wounds of war were still fresh in the Mark. He was also well aware that she would have postponed the date of her wedding had he just asked. But Éomer had decided he would be damned if he didn't allow at least one of them to get on with their life and be happy.

All the same, perhaps for these very reasons, he had decided it was a good idea to get away from Edoras for a while, and in any case he was eager to visit his Amrothian friends. It was not often possible to meet them all at the same time. Elphir rarely left Dol Amroth these days and he had not been able to make it to Éowyn and Faramir's wedding – he was seeing to the duties of the Prince while Imrahil travelled back and forth between their home and Mundburg. Meanwhile, Erchirion had his hands full with commanding the Amrothian fleet, and Amrothos was kept busy with the lords of Belfalas, of whom his father was the chief. Imrahil himself was still back in the White City, but he had reassured his friend he'd be no more than three days behind Éomer himself, and in the meantime, his sons would be glad to host him.

And so, as his company travelled southwards, the weathers grew milder and fairer, and eventually they could even smell and see something Éomer and his Riders had never perceived until now: the Great Sea was before their eyes, glimmering in sunlight and stretching far beyond horizon. Back in the north, it had been difficult to imagine such masses of water, and though the young king had some Númenórean blood through his grandmother Morwen Steelsheen, no desire for the sea stirred in him. Rather, he decided he would be perfectly comfortable just observing it from afar.

The land of Belfalas was fair and rich, with lush green gardens that bore fruit and flowers, great fields that could produce enough grain to feed countless mouths, vineyards that yielded some of the best wines in Middle-earth, and waters that teemed with fish and other sealife. No wonder Imrahil was counted as the most powerful lord in the land, considering the wealth and prosperity he commanded. Compared to this peace and plenty, the Riddermark seemed like a harsh, wild land. His messengers had ridden between the two cities during the winter and they had much praised this beautiful land, but now Éomer felt their words did not do justice to the sweet shores of Dor-en-Ernil.

In the middle of all this was the city of Dol Amroth, as brilliant as a white jewel. The hand-print of the great builders who remembered Númenor's glory could not be mistaken about when one travelled on the paved streets and gazed at the tall houses. On one side, the city descended into a busy harbour that embraced the sea, and in the bay there were many ships great and small. There were lively markets on the way, where goods were sold in a brilliant variety, and as far as Éomer could tell, the economy of Dol Amroth seemed to be thriving. Soldiers in the livery of blue and silver could be seen here and there, keeping order and peace, but they greeted the arriving Rohirrim and politely made way to the war-horses. As they passed, many of the common folk stopped to watch them in wonder. Rohirrim were not a usual sight in these parts, especially not in such quantities.

The palace of the Princes of Dol Amroth suited well the picture. Built of the same white stone as the rest of the city, its towers stood tall and proud on a rock that overlooked the sea, and the great gateway held the banners of the House of Dol Amroth. Swan Knights stood up on the guarding walls and made their rounds, and the pair at the gate bowed their heads when the King of Rohan and his company rode by them. In the courtyard, everything was ready for them: stablehands would receive the horses of the King's Company, Riders would be shown to their quarters, and Prince Elphir himself along with his two younger brothers was there to welcome the royal visitor. They were all smiling – Amrothos was grinning – and once he was in the talking distance, warm greetings filled the air. It was good to be among friends after a long journey.

About as soon as Éomer had dismounted, he was surrounded from all sides, and it seemed that the three princes were talking at the same time, asking about his journey, speaking quickly of this or that amusement prepared for him, and making what seemed like a hundred other questions. But then the Lady Aredhel, Elphir's wife, pushed in between them and shooed them like a bunch of misbehaving children, and reminded them that their guest had only just arrived. Under her supervision, the young king was whisked away to his rooms, and soon enough he had washed and changed clothes. He knew his Riders were looked after just as meticulously. Éomer observed Imrahil's sons fussing over him with a twinge of envy on his heart: no such family, so easy and glad together, waited for him back in Edoras.

When he joined his Amrothian friends again, it was already dinnertime. He was ushered into a dining hall and a glass of wine was pushed into his hand. With some bewilderment he gazed around himself: tables and chairs made of pale, polished wood, pennants depicting the Swan Ship of Dol Amroth, tasteful flower arrangements, fine porcelain and silver cutlery so delicate he wondered if he could even handle them in his hands... it surely had Imrahil's air about it. The Lady Aredhel did no join them; with a smile she merely commented she would only be in the way of them catching up.

The beginning of the meal was spent in exchanging tidings and remembering Éowyn and Faramir's wedding a few months ago. The food was delicious and company of friends was even better, and Éomer relaxed, feeling the strain of the journey leaving him at last. It was surely good to be away from the matters of the crown for a while.

But then at one point, Amrothos mentioned a name cursorily – and it was a name that belonged to a family member Éomer still had not met. He couldn't say what sparked his attention or made him ask the question. Maybe it was idle curiosity, induced by the rich red wine served with the meal.

"Is the Princess Lothíriel going to join us tonight? I don't believe I have been introduced to her yet", he remarked, fingering the foot of his wine glass as he leaned back in his chair.

"She's out of the city, visiting relatives", Elphir said smoothly and gestured to a servant to pour another drink to their guest.

"That's a pity. Faramir spoke warmly of her", Éomer said. Considering how tightly-knit the Amrothian family seemed to be, it was rather odd that one member of it had avoided all the many social gatherings there had been in Edoras and Mundburg, from crownings to funerals and weddings.

"She's something of an eccentric, Lothíriel is. Doesn't usually care much for crowds. Takes after our aunt in that", Amrothos put in a little too quickly and sipped his wine. But then he nearly spluttered it over the table and he cast a quick, guilty look at his brother Erchirion, who was glaring at him. Éomer lifted his eyebrows; if he should guess, one brother had just kicked the other in the shin under the table.

Even so, he did remember the brief meeting with Lady Ivriniel at some feast back in Minas Tirith when the war had ended. The woman had struck him as cool and distant, sparing him no more than the most necessary courtesy before gliding away. How the woman was able to move so with her limp, he couldn't tell. But in any case, he had hard time imagining any of Imrahil's offspring taking after her. In fact, he might not even have believed the two were siblings, hadn't the Prince introduced his sister himself.

While he couldn't say his curiosity had been satisfied by the princes – actually, Amrothos behaviour had only piqued it more – he could tell they were not keen to talk about their sister. In some other situation, he might have pressed on until he was told something satisfactory, but he decided pursuing the matter right now would only ruin the pleasant mood. So let it pass for the time being. Maybe the Princess would return while his visit lasted and he could see for himself what was so unusual about her that her brothers would grow so apprehensive at the mention of her.

Erchirion took the opportunity to change the course of conversation.

"So, how go things in Rohan?" he wanted to know, leaning his elbows on the edge of the table.

"Busily. Even more so than I had feared", said Éomer and he let out a small sigh. What could he tell his friends about endless days in the saddle or in the council rooms, meeting throngs of families who had lost all they had in the world, or the lonely nights he lay awake? To describe these things was sure to make the atmosphere morose, and he was not here to ruin others' night.

"You made it through the first winter. The worst is behind you", Elphir stated sympathetically. He could understand the burden perhaps better than his brothers, as he was Imrahil's heir and already took part in many matters of governing Belfalas.

"I'd like to think so. But as a king, you never know for sure. The worst could actually be just around the corner", he said uneasily and looked at his glass with a frown. Perhaps what made it so hard was he had been given no time to prepare for becoming a king. Théodred had received a lifetime's worth of schooling in that regard, but with his death, the mantle of the Lord of the Mark was thrust upon one who had never expected to receive it. And days had been brief and anxious between his becoming Théoden's heir and being named the King on the battlefield. His uncle had not had time to teach him much or to pass on his wisdom. In a way, it all felt like being thrown into water and ordered to swim without prior experience.

"You are too hard on yourself. Aragorn says no one could have managed better. You kept Rohan together after a devastating war and that is no small thing", Erchirion pointed out. Éomer did not mention it had only been possible due to grain and livestock Aragorn had sent before the winter fell on them. He had loathed having to rely on the good will of others, even someone as close as his fellow king, but truth was his kingdom would not have survived without outside help. As a king, his task had been to swallow his pride and make sure his people received the help they needed.

"Well, let's hope I didn't keep it together just to destroy it by being a hapless politician and a ruler", he muttered and took a mouthful of the wine. It was starting to taste better and better, which was a sure sign he ought to slow down.

"I know what you need, my friend. You should get married. Having a queen by your side would help you to handle the duties", Elphir said sagely.

"Elphir has been singing that song ever since he married Aredhel. He doesn't seem to grasp the rest of us aren't such prudes as him. And how could I give up the sweet and friendly lasses of the taverns of Dol Amroth?" Amrothos said, which earned him a glare from the eldest of three.

"Yes, the wenches of this land would go wailing from Edhellond to Minas Tirith if you should marry, dearest brother", he said sternly, while Éomer was trying to hide his amusement. While he did not particularly enjoy the topic of marriage, the banter between brothers cheered him up. Sometimes he wondered if Imrahil's sons were even aware of how entertaining their conversations could be.

"Don't listen to Amrothos – he's a disgrace and we all know it. I think Elphir is right. You should raise a family! Isn't Father always saying how important it is? He once told me he would have gone mad long ago if he didn't have us", Erchirion put in, looking equally amused with his brothers' bickering.

"One could claim he did just that _because_ of us", Amrothos quipped once more. The three princes were talking again so fast Éomer couldn't get a word in, not even to point out he was already well familiar with this subject. It was his council's favourite topic, especially as of late.

"Because of _you,_ maybe", Erchirion countered his brother's statement.

"I will when the time is right", the young king finally managed to say, exercising that same relentless conviction he had perfected while talking to his advisers. Thankfully, the three princes were more easily silenced as far as this matter went. They exchanged a look between themselves and seemed to decide it was wiser to back off than to disturb a sleeping dragon. But even then, Amrothos couldn't fight the temptation of one final remark on the matter.

"There's an entire generation of young ladies who will be both frustrated and delighted to hear that", he said lightly and then spluttered again when Erchirion gave his shin another kick.

Éomer snorted under his breath and while he knew it was tempting the fates, he sipped his wine again. Idly he wondered why the Princess Lothíriel's name had never come up when the matter of his marriage had been discussed. It made a certain kind of sense, after all – Imrahil was his good friend and allying himself with a powerful Gondorian House through marriage was not bad politics. But obviously, she was not interested. So he judged, considering she had not even insisted to be present in the celebrations after the war, like so many noble ladies of Gondor. He knew many of them had rather narrowed chances of finding a companion for life, for a number of young lords of the land had lost their lives in the war. But Princess Lothíriel had no reason to be fearful of her future. As the only daughter of Prince Imrahil, a lord both wealthy and powerful, she could have her pick of a husband even after the War of the Ring.

And who was to say she even wanted anyone? Amrothos had said she was like her aunt, and Lady Ivriniel had chosen to live her life alone. In fact, he remembered seeing a certain kind of coldness in her eyes that implied profound disinterest in intimate relationships. In that, they had freedom he would never know.

Thankfully, Elphir then began to talk about wanting to take their northern friend to sailing, leading the conversation back to lighter tracks that didn't have to do with finding a bride.

It was late when he crawled into his bed, feeling a little drunk but also relieved. Laughing and jesting with friends was just what he had needed and for tonight, Rohan and the burdens of the throne were far away. Slipping between soft, fresh sheets he let out a sigh and felt deliciously tired. Not even the sea, unfamiliar in its sight and sound, kept him awake that night; he was soon fast asleep and saw no dreams.

* * *

The sun had already set when Lothíriel slipped inside the palace of the Princes of Dol Amroth.

She had a lengthy journey behind her, but she was satisfied. After months of hard work, she had finally been able to track down the lair of Black Guldor, a notable bandit chief who had been terrorising the road to Dol Amroth for some time. At first, Father had sent his Knights to seek for the scoundrel and his men, but their investigations had availed nothing. Eventually, Aunt had persuaded him that a different approach was necessary. Some jobs were meant for spiders.

It turned out Aunt was right. In the end, sneaking around, listening to gossip, shadowing some suspected members of the band, and a great deal of patience had finally allowed Lothíriel to follow the band to their hide out. They never knew she had been there, and so wouldn't know to expect Father's Knights when they would fall on the villains. She only had to deliver her intelligence to the Captain of the Guard and let him take it from there. It was a clean job that required no bloodshed on her part, and afterwards her little corner of the world would be a little safer.

As she made her way through the courtyard, her dark cloak sheltering her from eyes and her soft boots making no sound against the stone pavement, she made notice of the company of men standing about one brazier that lit the yard at night. Tall men with long blond manes, talking and laughing in the speech of Rohan. Their tongue had been favourite to learn, for to her ears it sounded almost like music. She lifted her eyebrows; she hadn't known such a quantity were expected in Dol Amroth at this time. Usually they came alone or in pairs, delivering messages from King Éomer in the north.

She had never met any of them personally, not even their king who was friend to her kinsmen. Her missions had not taken her that far north, not yet at least. But she would have had to live under a rock not to have heard stories about the Lord of the Mark, and Father and brothers hadn't spared their praise about the fierce horselords. Especially their king and his sister enjoyed her family's admiration. Amrothos, the most enthusiastic horseman among her brothers, had practically worshipped Rohirrim after the war had ended. But her aunt, who had seen the King of Rohan at least once, hadn't said much about the man. Then again, she rarely spoke favourably of any representative of male sex. Wryly Lothíriel thought it was hard to make up her own mind between the men of her family, who spoke of the King like a long lost family member, and Aunt who was coolly disinterested in people like him.

But perhaps she'd now finally get to meet the famous King Éomer, and make her own assumptions at last. Surely it meant he was in the city, if there were so many Rohirrim in the very courtyard of her Father's palace? This was no time to go and introduce herself, of course. It was already very late and she was way-worn from her latest mission. It wouldn't be easy to explain her appearance at this time, and anyway she would need to know what her brothers had told the man about her. While she looked forward to meeting someone so famous and so praised by her kinsmen, she also knew she would have to be careful. King Éomer had the reputation of a discerning man, and it would be wise to make sure he wouldn't think of the Princess of Dol Amroth twice after this journey.

Lothíriel had now crossed over the courtyard and without the notice of laughing Riders she slipped inside. Using the shadowy corridors and narrow staircases away from the light, formal parts of the palace, she passed unseen like a ghost. And ghost she strove to be, unseen and unheard in all the dealings of her secret profession.

Though the palace itself was rather quiet at this hour, Aunt Ivriniel was still awake. Lamps and candles illuminated softly her private chambers and she sat, seemingly lost in thought as she laboured at her loom, her skilful hands moving quickly over the weave. She had always been a gifted weaver but hadn't really dedicated much time to it before her injury. One who didn't know her might have believed she was fully absorbed in her work, but Lothíriel knew better. Though she had tried it for years now, she had never been able to sneak up on her mentor.

"Success?" Aunt asked without lifting her eyes from her work.

"Yes. I was able to find the bandits' hideout", she answered and stood before her father's sister. Aunt never allowed her to sit when she was delivering a report from her mission, or receiving another quest.

She proceeded to describe what she had found out and where to find the outlaws. Her aunt would deliver the needed information to the Captain of the Guard – one of the very few people who knew about the Hidden Blades, though even he wasn't privy to the full truth about who they were and what they did. Lothíriel had sometimes wondered why Ivriniel would insist to remain as the hand between her and the captain, but she guessed it was because while the older woman couldn't practice their trade anymore, she still identified herself by it. So she had to be able to do at least something beyond just instructing her successor.

When Lothíriel reached the ending of her explanation, she spied a satisfied look on Aunt's face.

"Good. I shall relay the news to the captain. His men can take care of this matter", Aunt said and continued her work with the faintest little smile on her face.

"About time. I won't be missing that sorry bunch or the places I had to crawl into in order to get the information", said the young woman and she made a move to throw herself into the other chair.

"Hold still, child. I have another task for you", Aunt's voice lashed out, freezing her where she stood. She had spent so many years listening to Ivriniel's sharply delivered commands, she was still following them instinctively.

"Already? But I only just got back!" Lothíriel complained in disappointment. "I was hoping to spend some time with my brothers, and there are Rohirrim -"

"Quiet", Aunt ordered and the young woman fell silent. Satisfied with this, she went on, "You won't be needing to leave Dol Amroth. You can attend to the task and have your little fun with the guests before they leave."

A slight scowl twisted her lips momentarily before she spoke again, "Your father would be disappointed, anyway, if you weren't introduced to that friend of his from the north. My brother often has such strange priorities."

So it was as Lothíriel had guessed: the King of Rohan _was_ visiting Dol Amroth.

"How is it strange? King Éomer is an important ally of our own king, and our House. It's not good politics to mistreat allies. He will have noticed my absence already, Aunt, and he will wonder about it", Lothíriel pointed out, hesitating between sitting down and standing upright. But considering her mentor had not yet given her new mission, she decided to stay on her feet.

Aunt Ivriniel scoffed.

"You think too much about politics. I've told you a hundred times they are not our concern. It's your father's business to come up with some excuse to keep the man from wondering", she said coolly.

"Well, they _should_ be our concern, now more than ever. The world is changing, Aunt, and we must change with it", Lothíriel said eagerly. But as ever when she tried to suggest something new, her father's sister did not seem very impressed.

Aunt Ivriniel sighed.

"You are still young, niece, and there is so much you don't know. But one day you will see", she merely said and cast a sharp look at the young woman. "Now, if that is enough of chit chat, I still have to give you your new mission."

"Very well", Lothíriel said and stood up straighter.

"Whispers have reached my ears that some rather suspicious characters have been seen down at the port. It seems that a band of Umbarian mariners have entered Dol Amroth and are staying at a tavern called _Uinen's Mirror_ close to the shipyard. Now, your father would tell you that they are simply merchants, trying to make profit in this new time of peace. However, my sources tell me that one of them was seen wearing a tunic with the Black Serpent embroidered on it under his cloak, which he quickly covered when he realised it had become visible", Aunt explained to her, speaking in that low, heated voice she only used when speaking of missions. Lothíriel listened eagerly; she didn't wonder that her mentor had this intelligence, for the woman still had many of her contacts in the city and even beyond. It would take years to build a similar web of information for herself.

"So you think they have something evil in mind? That trading is only a front for some nefarious corsair plot?" she asked, already mulling over the methods and manoeuvres that were usually effective when dealing with Umbarians.

"I do not know anything for sure yet", Aunt allowed, frowning slightly. "But we both know those who bear the sign of Black Serpent are some of the most bitter enemies of Gondor. If that sign is being carried in Dol Amroth, then I would like to know all that I can about it."

She looked straight at her niece now, her eyes almost black in this light, "Go to _Uinen's Mirror,_ niece. Learn what you can, but don't show yourself. They must not know we are on to them, so you need to avoid being noticed. Once you have the intelligence we need, come back to me and then we shall decide what to do."

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** And here we have a new chapter! I wasn't sure I would be able to update before the New Year, but I got some free time tonight and was able to finish this one. I hope you've all had great holidays, and I wish a happy new year to you all!

I admit I was a little anxious for how people would respond to this story, but so far the reactions have been surprisingly positive, and that makes me very happy.

Now a couple of years have passed since the events of last chapter, and the time is after the War of the Ring. Éomer and Lothíriel have not met yet, but we'll get there soon enough!

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

 **Irgendwer -** Thank you! I am very glad to hear you think so! :)

 **Tibblets -** Great! It's good to have you on board again. :)

 **Nerdanel -** It does feel great to have a new story going once more. :) I hope you enjoy this one!

 **sai19** \- That is what I strive for! While I always wished Tolkien had written more about Éomer and Lothíriel, on the other hand it allows me to explore their relationship in so many ways. :)

 **ckara -** Here's to hoping I'll be able to fulfill those expectations!

 **Luckylily -** I do hope you like the story!

 **Doranwen -** Thank you!

 **outlawwoman -** I hope this continues to excite! :)

 **Guest -** Thank you! :)

 **Amoor -** It was great writing him again. No meeting in this one yet, but we'll get there!

 **Guest -** I have never watched that show, but I guess I now have to check it out! Also I am glad if I have managed to do something that you've always wanted to see. Here's to hoping the story keeps delivering!

 **Jo -** Excellent! :D

 **EStrunk -** As I like to say - go big or go home! :D Yes, I would imagine after all that training she would have quite a few tricks up her sleeve. But we'll see how and where those tricks will come at need!

 **Celebrin Aranel -** Thanks! :)

 **Catspector -** Thank you very much! I am actually pretty happy about how the characters turned out in this story - even though some of it surprised even myself. But more on that in coming chapters!

 **Anon -** I don't think Ivriniel would leave anything to chance!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Aunt's task rather disrupted Lothíriel's plans for the following day. She had hoped to spend some time with her brothers as far as it was possible with King Éomer in town, perhaps gone for a ride on the beach, and obviously she would have liked to meet the Rohirric king. However, the wise thing to do was to concentrate fully on the task at hand, and leave other plans to wait for a more convenient moment.

Lothíriel decided it was not so bad. The task should be an easy one, she would be back before morning, and anyway Father was supposed to return to the city the next day. Then, once she had the answers her Aunt wanted, she could join the rest of the family for whatever amusements they came up with to entertain their royal guest. In any case such were better enjoyed when work was done, and so she put aside thoughts of family and friends and got up when the sun was rising. After a quick breakfast, she plunged into her second wardrobe – the one she kept tightly under lock and key. Servants were not allowed there, though she was sure they would have come up with delightful reasons as to why the daughter of Prince Imrahil possessed a variety of clothing that went from beggar's attire to a couple of dresses only a lady of the night might feel comfortable wearing.

Deciding on the disguise of a boy, she quickly bound her chest and picked up a loose tunic, leggings that looked more worn than they were, and a pair of soft boots she always wore to her missions. She hid her hair under a cap and slipped a small dagger inside the right boot. While her task was only to observe, it didn't hurt to be careful.

Once her disguise was mostly in place – she would have to rub some dirt on her face before it was complete – she headed outside. Using again the back doors and hidden stairways in the parts she knew were quiet at this early hour, she moved through the palace as noiselessly as ever. The skill of not being noticed was one of the most important things Aunt had taught her.

However in the courtyard, she saw she was not the only one up and about at this hour and quickly she pulled back into the shadows. Three Rohirrim were standing near the stables, and a fourth one was just dismounting. She looked at the man in wonder and noted he was even taller than her brothers, his shoulders were broad and his arms strong, and a surge of intimidation went through her when she took in the lethal grace he moved with. An elite warrior right there, if she had ever seen one.

 _"Éomer Cyning!"_ spoke one of the other three, confirming his identity. So this was the King of Rohan! She had rather wondered if stories about him were very exaggerated, but saw now the amount of embellishment in the tales was less than expected.

He looked a little wind-blown, strands of golden hair had escaped from his braid, and by that and the fact he had just dismounted she guessed he had already been to a morning ride. _An early bird, then,_ she thought instantly and then blinked, feeling surprised at her own thoughts. She was cataloguing him as though he was one of her targets! And yet, had she ever looked upon a man without analysing his strengths and weaknesses?

Then suddenly, his eyes flashed straight where she was standing, his hand falling on the hilt of his sword as though by an instinct. She recognised the tense preparation of a hunting beast as he scanned the area with his keen, dark eyes, and though Lothíriel knew he couldn't see her, she still held her breath. A warrior king indeed, she thought to herself; though surely after a year of peace and when visiting their friends, even warrior kings relaxed a little? Then again she remembered the situation had been very dire in Rohan in the last years and months before the War of the Ring, and King Éomer had served the realm as the Third Marshal. And wasn't her Aunt the living proof that some old habits died hard? There were some things so deeply etched in one's body and muscles that a few months could not erase them.

At last the tall Rohir looked away, focusing on the other Rohirrim again. Lothíriel let out a small breath of relief. It surely was a good thing this horselord was an ally. She didn't think she could have taken him by surprise – or actually be able to challenge him in a fight. Not without the help of some dirty tricks, at least, but somewhere deep there was a certainty she would have hated to use them against him.

She shook her head and reminded herself she had a job to do, and it did not concern the King of Rohan in any way. It would be wise to focus on the matter at hand.

* * *

When Prince Amrothos of Dol Amroth was ushering his royal guest down the road towards the city, Éomer considered to himself that his friend had some kind of supernatural skills of persuasion. How else would he be agreeing to visit some taverns with the other man? Well, it was an entertainment he rarely allowed himself these days, and his face was not as well known in Dol Amroth as it was back in Mundburg. Seeing the formal part of his stay would not commence before Imrahil's return, he still possessed some anonymity in this part of the world as far as his appearance went, and he couldn't deny after two rather quiet nights he wasn't against the idea of some free-spirited carousing – in a moderate amount, though, like Éothain had insisted. At his captain's demand, he had also agreed to take at least two guards along. They were not in armour and carried no swords, but he was aware both wore chain-mail under their coats and probably had a copious amount of daggers hidden on their persons. Éomer had known better than to say it was a little excessive.

"So, where are we going?" he asked his friend as they made their way towards the nightly amusements of the city. Erchirion followed a little way back along with two other young lords Éomer remembered meeting back in Mundburg after the war.

"I have a few places in mind, but we absolutely have to make a stop at _Uinen's Mirror._ Their ale is legendary, and I'm sure even you will appreciate it", Amrothos said cheerfully and offered a flask to his friend. The young king sipped it carefully and recognised it as brandy. Perhaps Amrothos had been raiding his father's wine cellars again, as he apparently was so fond of doing.

"You mean it's slightly more drinkable than the horse piss you Gondorians usually try to serve as ale?" he asked his friend plesantly.

The prince was not so easily taken aback.

"I would ask how would you know what horse piss tastes like", Amrothos said in carefree tones, "if it didn't make so perfect sense that you do."

"That's rich, coming from the man I witnessed at Cormallen drinking -" Éomer started, but he wasn't given a chance to actually speak out loud the unforgettable memory. His friend hit his arm hard.

"Shut up! Erchirion doesn't know and if he did, he would never let me hear the end of it", Amrothos hissed and gulped a large mouthful of the brandy.

Éomer offered a beatific smile to the prince, enjoying this banter more than he could have said. This past year, he hadn't got that many chances to actually _have_ a sense of humour, but moments like this reminded him such thing did exist. Even some of his oldest friends back in Rohan had apparently forgotten he was still a _man._

"I'm sure you can come up with a way to convince me to stay silent", he quipped now, and troubles of home were the furthest thing from his mind.

Amrothos groaned and pushed the brandy into his hand. The young king sipped it and smiled, deciding maybe this was going to be a good night after all, despite his initial doubts.

It was also nice to get a little closer look on the city. It reminded him much of Mundburg in north, though he got a feeling the builders of this place had not considered defences as lengthily, but had given thought to beauty instead. Here and there one would see little gardens and blooming trees, and even the houses of the common folk had a sense of airiness and light about them. The roads were wide and paved and all was in good order, as could be expected of anything Imrahil ruled. People he saw looked to be in good cheer as they passed by and he judged there was prosperity here, as could be seen from the good fabrics the local people used in their attires, and in their hale faces. At one market, his company stopped to look at a mummer's performance and cheered among the rest of the audience. The brandy was starting to work its magic, for his mind was growing lighter and his step swifter.

At last, when it felt they had already walked through half the city and the sun was about to set, Amrothos pointed at their destination. There, basking in the light of torches and already filling with patrons, was _Uinen's Mirror._

"Here we are! Prepare for something exquisite, my friend!" the prince said happily. His spirits had been just as affected by the brandy.

"Amrothos is in love with this place, though I don't know why", Erchirion commented. He and the rest of the company had caught up with the two.

"Well, let's see if there is any truth to his words", Éomer said, following Amrothos inside.

It was rather crowded inside and the air was heavy with a wide mixture of smells: sweat, spilled ale, smoke, and some spicy undercurrent he couldn't name. The youngest of three princes was able to find them a table at the corner and before he even knew it, tankards of ale were already put down before them. Laughter and chatter rose and fell and at the corner, a fiddler was trying out a melody as tragic as his expression. At the same time, it was everything and nothing like the taverns of the Mark.

The night unfolded much like could be expected. There was jesting and laughing and singing, and more ale was brought to the table by a serving maid with dark hair and a rather wicked glint in her blue-grey eyes. A couple of times she leaned over the table while putting down the drinks so that no secret was made of the womanly gifts she had been given. At some point, Erchirion disappeared with one of his friends. Meanwhile Amrothos was growing more and more boisterous, and the young king would have told him to slow down hadn't his own ale made him feel increasingly dizzy and sick. Surely he hadn't drunk _that_ much?

Grunting something about needing to get some air, he stumbled on his feet and headed outside, clumsily pushing people from his way. Their grins and laughing faces seemed unreal somehow, almost though he was in a nightmare where even the most commonplace things become threatening and just _wrong_. Only one guard followed him – he had no idea of where the second had vanished – and Éomer had hard time comprehending the rapid flow of words the man was delivering to him. He was able to state he'd be fine, but even though the air was blessedly cool outside, it didn't help him to clear his head. He swayed harder now and felt disoriented, and somewhere in the muddle of his thoughts there was a small voice screaming this was not normal.

"Éomer -" his guard spoke his name in alarm, and then the young king saw two dark shapes approaching fast. He fumbled his side for the sword that was not there, but then his feet finally gave in and he knew no more.

* * *

Though Lothíriel had spent most of the day tailing the Umbarians, she had not yet found anything worthwhile. She had located the place they were staying at – a first floor sleeping chamber at the inn called _Uinen's Mirror._ A second-rate place with second-rate ale, she considered it, even though she knew that for some reason her brother Amrothos adored the establishment. But maybe this group of Umabarians was not lodging here for quality. Such assumption was easily made by the fact their chambers were so near to the noisy common room. Then again, their lodgings were on the same corridor as the back door. A good choice, she had surmised, and perhaps a sign they were indeed prepared for having to flee very quickly?

She had followed a few of them around the markets but had seen nothing out of the ordinary. They had a stall where they sold goods from their land, and one performed as a mummer not far from that place. They stayed together or remained in highly public spaces, making it impossible for her to try to sidetrack one of them. Seeing this approach was not yielding any results, she eventually returned to the inn, thinking of a new plan. She'd have loved to go through their things back at the inn, but unfortunately it turned out at least one of the party was staying in the room at all times. Randomly pick-pocketing one of them would probably reveal nothing of interest, especially when she didn't know which one of them was the leader, so at the time being it seemed eavesdropping was the best course of action.

It turned out the Umbarians rather set it up for her. For as the sunset came and night grew darker, she could see one of them opening the window of their lodgings. The day had been warm, so perhaps it was stuffy inside. Upon sneaking closer to the open window, which faced a narrow corridor between the inn and the next house, she learned one Umbarian's fondness for garlic was also to be blamed: she could hear a male voice complaining in their language how he couldn't breathe in the stench.

Smiling to herself, she pulled her dark cloak around herself, took seat below the window, and waited. Perhaps they would speak freely in their rooms, using their own tongue, and make a mention of their plans. After all, they had no reason to think someone who understood their speech could be sitting right under their window.

However, they were still not giving her much to work on. They made vague mentions of searching for something in the city, but it wasn't clear what that could be. Frowning to herself, she decided it might be wiser to start again tomorrow, and try to find a way to corner one of them. She'd need Aunt's permission for contact, but hopefully she'd be able to convince her mentor that this was necessary.

Lothíriel was considering leaving and going home when there was sudden noise beyond the room in the corridor. Her curiosity awakened once more, she sat still and quiet.

The door to the big chamber was noisily opened.

"What? What is this? What do you think you're doing?" asked one voice loudly.

"Look closely, Dagalur. Don't you realise who this man is?" asked back another, supposedly someone who had just entered the room.

"Why should I care? What have you done to him and more importantly, why have you dragged your kill to our room?" Dagalur demanded to know angrily.

"He's not dead! He's just drugged", the new arrival said defensively. Lothíriel lifted her eyebrows when she heard that. In some other situation she would have thought these Umbarians had found what they had been looking for, but Dagalur's reaction convinced her otherwise. But even then, something unusual was afoot and her curiosity was now very much awakened.

"Wait a minute", said another with some suspicion. "I know this face. I have seen him before."

"Explain yourselves!" Dagalur ordered. By now the princess had guessed he was in charge of this ragtag company.

"We were enjoying some wine and company at the common room when this man and a few more walked in. We could hardly believe it, Dagalur, even though we had heard at the markets he's in the city. There he was right under our noses!" the one who had first spoken began. There was a brief silence and then another spoke – a friend to the owner of the first voice.

"So we decided to act. After all, this is a chance that's not likely to come our way ever again. It surely is more worthwhile than our ridiculous mission in this city. Dagalur, allow me to introduce: the King of Rohan himself!" he announced triumphantly.

Everyone in the chamber was quiet. Perhaps they felt just as dumbstruck as Lothíriel herself. Though she knew the risk, she had to see, and so she edged herself upwards as carefully as she could. Keeping herself in the shadow as much as possible, she peeked inside.

There were seven men in the room, standing in a loose circle. Two of them were holding an unconscious man between them and they did it with some difficulty. No wonder, for he was a large fellow, tall and broad. Just as the man she had seen in the courtyard of her father's palace... his long hair hung messily over his face and shadowed it, but she knew it was him. Somehow these sorry bastards had captured Gondor's chief ally, and in that moment it was only years of training that allowed her to keep from crying out loud in alarm.

"Just how", Dagalur started slowly and evenly, " _how_ is it possible you two idiots have caught one of the most lethal killers in Middle-earth?"

"It wasn't difficult to have something slipped in his and his guards' drinks. The serving wench owed me a favour", said the man standing left to the King. Lothíriel considered wryly she'd rather not know what kind of a favour that was.

Again there was silence. She guessed it was because the entire company was busy marvelling at the sheer stroke of luck that had come their way. Well, luck for them, but incredible misfortune for everyone else in this part of the world. Quickly she tried to think of what she should do. If she made an alarm, who knew how these men would react? Maybe they would kill their prisoner and flee into the night, leaving no tracks to follow. There were seven of them now and maybe they had friends nearby. A few of these villains she could have taken care of, but the odds did not promise good for her – not while she also had to worry about the survival of the King of Rohan.

"I think we should throw him out to the street. It's not worth the effort to try to take him. Once they realise he's missing, this whole city will be hunting for us", one man commented at last.

"Hold on a second. Don't you understand what this means? We have the King of Rohan in our hands! There are many in Harad who would pay a hefty sum to have this man under their mercy. The loss of the Black Serpent has not been forgotten, and this horsemaster is the closest thing to getting revenge. What is more, his death would be a severe blow to all northmen, Rohirrim and Gondorians alike and make them vulnerable for an attack. Bauruk is right: we are not going to get a chance like this ever again", another put in in a voice that was full of malicious glee. While he was speaking, he cast aside his cloak and revealed the serpent embroidery on his tunic. So Aunt's sources had been right.

"He is right, Dagalur. Don't say you don't want to humiliate the northerners just as much as the rest of us. And if this means Gondor is weakened... just think of the possibilities", another man spoke.

One more moment Dagalur spent considering the situation. Against hope, she wished he'd deem it too dangerous, and they would let the horselord go. But it was in vain.

"Very well. But if we are going to do this, we'll have to move quickly", Dagalur said at length and her heart sank. "Grab your things and get moving! It won't be long 'til they realise he's missing, and then everyone and their mothers will be looking for him."

As the Umbarian company began hastily to prepare, Lothíriel stood in the shadow and thought quickly about her options. What she had resolved before was still valid, perhaps even more so than before: these men would not hesitate to murder their prisoner to save their own sorry lives. Furthermore, letting them out of her sight could result in them being able to escape all notice. She had to follow them and come up with something.

Guessing they would come out through the back door, she made her way there and positioned herself in a shadowy spot to wait for their arrival. Her heart was beating anxiously while she waited; she had not felt such urgency in a while. Compared to this, her recent missions were like nice little picnics.

She also thought about the King's guards and whether they were out there, drugged just as him. She couldn't worry about them now – no one could aid their lord except for her. This helped her to calm her mind. Crisis was what Aunt Ivriniel had trained her for.

The company of Umbarians burst out, carrying the horselord between them. They had thrown a hood over his head, making him look like a friend who has enjoyed a little too much ale. Twice they had to switch the carriers, for the limp weight of the tall and sturdy man was not moved without much effort. In their haste, they didn't notice a dark figure ghosting after them.

The direction they were taking soon had her heart sinking. They were heading for the port and that could mean only one thing: these villains had a ship and were meaning to escape by the sea. That made things even more complicated, because to escape a ship on the open waters was a trick even she didn't know. However, as they made their way towards the harbour, she could also detect the way wind was picking up.

 _There's a storm in that breeze,_ she thought with a smile. Maybe it would discourage the Umbarians from this endeavour?

All the way down to the pier they hurried, and if other folk still outside at this time made notice of them, they didn't seem to pay much attention. But Lothíriel shadowed them silently, and felt like each step made it a little clearer what she would have to do if she hoped to help the King of Rohan. There was some fear, yes, but she was also determined. Aunt had sometimes said that it was not always a hindrance, if one didn't give in to it. For a stout heart and a disciplined mind, fear could even be useful.

The company of pirates halted at what she guessed was their ship. It didn't look like the usual corsair vessels that raided the shores of Gondor, but this was probably because these men had hoped to avoid being noticed.

On the pier, an argument rose. The newly arrived company was insisting they should set sail at once, but those stationed at the ship were reluctant. The reason for this was clear: wind now blew ceaselessly from the sea and it was driving storm clouds before it. Not a few from the crew disliked the idea of braving the sea in storm, but others agreed this was an opportunity they were not likely to get again. Eventually Dagalur, who she now assumed was their captain, raised his voice and announced they would leave Dol Amroth tonight.

From her hiding place behind some barrels Lothíriel saw them dragging the King of Rohan on board. He was still out cold and probably would be for a while; Southron poisons were strong and subtle. While Aunt Ivriniel had spent years and years telling her that women of their trade were not concerned with honour, Lothíriel had never overcome her contempt of poisons and those who used them. She was glad she hadn't yet come to a situation where they were her only choices.

A plan had been forming in her mind from the moment she had heard Dagalur announcing they would indeed defy the odds and try to deliver the King of Rohan to Umbar. It was a dangerous idea and she had no time to calculate her odds, but there were few things in her favour, for the storm would keep the ship close to land and these men did not know who and what she was. And King Éomer had quite the reputation as a warrior. He would know a thing or two about survival. He would help her to help himself.

One thing was clear to her, if nothing else was: this would probably be the most dangerous thing she had done so far and there was no guarantee of success. But she'd rather take that small chance than the absolute certainty that if she did not act now, the King of Rohan would surely die.

Resting herself on one knee and keeping her head low, she took several deep breaths. She shouldn't make her appearance immediately after the King of Rohan had been taken on board, as that would only make his captors suspicious. She peeked around the barrels and saw the crew starting to prepare the ship for sailing; she still had several minutes left.

Lothíriel glanced at the city to her right. Torches and lamps glimmered in the night and somewhere far, she heard laughter. She had looked forward to spending some time in the city of her birth and among her family, but it looked like she was in for another trip away from home, and there was no telling yet how long that journey might be. If only there had been time to leave some kind of a message to her family! But Aunt knew her mission, and hopefully her mentor would put together two and two once it became clear that King Éomer and her were both missing. The departure of this ship would not be go unnoticed by the ship masters, and eventually whispers of it would reach Aunt Ivriniel's ears.

Deciding she had waited enough, she got up and arranged on her face an expression she hoped that would convince the Umbarians. Boldly she stepped into the light.

"Good evening, gentlemen. May I speak to your captain? I would like to pay you for a safe passage to Pelargir", she announced herself, much to the surprise of men readying the ship for embarking. It took a minute for them to master themselves and wryly she noted if she had wanted, in that time she could have taken down at least two of them before making her escape. But eventually their reaction came, hands grabbed her, and she made her struggle against them as convincing as she could.

"What we have here? A small harbour rat, is it?" asked one of the pirates.

"I'm no rat! I'm a weary traveller who simply wants to get out of this city!" she exclaimed, feigning outrage in a way that might have impressed even her aunt.

"What is this racket?" asked Dagalur from the deck of the ship. He regarded the scene down on the pier with critical eyes.

"This lad claims he wants to book a passage to Pelargir", said the same man who had called her a rat. "I say we kill him."

Dagalur did not seem impressed with this suggestion.

"And leave a clear track for Gondorians to follow? What an idiotic idea", he said coolly, and his words made the man look embarrassed. "Take him to the cells. We'll see if he can be useful – and if not, the slave markets of Umbar are always buying."

Lothíriel knew this was meant to frighten her. But inside, she was laughing.

 _Oh, we'll see about that._

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** Here at last is a new chapter! I hope you enjoyed it. :)

I know the situation right now bears some resemblance to _A Light that Endures,_ but I promise the upcoming events will be quite different. I think Lothíriel's presence on that ship should mix up things very nicely. The whole thing happens so fast, she really has to just think on her feet, and in this situation she decides the only thing she can do to help Éomer is get on that ship, too. There's no time to make the alarm and like she fears, the abductors would probably just kill him if they felt cornered.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

 **MissCallaLilly -** Well, that is surely a weird thing to be hearing!

 **EStrunk -** No proper meeting yet, but I hope you enjoyed the bit where she spies on him in the courtyard! I imagine her job description is pretty versatile actually - she's the go to girl whenever intrigue and stealth are needed.

 **Jo -** Thank you! :)

 **Guest -** I'm glad you liked it! I had fun doing that bit - I really need to write more of Éomer interacting with Imrahil's sons! I admit I'm a little curious to what you think the villains are in Dol Amroth!

 **Luckylily -** We'll get there - soon enough! :)

 **Guest -** Thank you! It was interesting to really take a look at Dol Amroth as Éomer would see it. :) Also thanks for the compliment! I do feel it's got better, too, but if you ever spot a mistake in my writing, please don't hesitate to point it out!

 **Irgendwer -** Thanks! I have always had a soft spot for them, really. :)

 **Anon -** I imagine you are not very wrong about that! But as the situation goes, she won't be having a chance to keep a close eye on Lothíriel! There are actually reasons she had to be removed from Lothíriel's vicinity, but more on that later. :)

 **Boramir -** Thank you!

 **Jeraly -** We'll get there eventually! ;) I am eager to get to their first actual meeting, too.

 **sai19 -** It may not be so easy to stay away from him in this situation... but we'll see how it goes!

 **frenchypassingby -** Thank you! It really is a point of view I grew to like more and more as I was planning and drafting this story. Also I wanted to write Lothíriel as her own person, especially because what it means for her relationship with her aunt. But now I'm getting ahead of myself!

 **Doranwen -** Aww, I'm sad to hear you've been sick! But I hope you are better now. I'm glad if you liked the chapter, though!


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

What awaited Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth in his city upon his return was a full-blown crisis. It was easily the worst thing to happen ever since the Ring War had ended, and possibly also the one with the most serious consequences, unless it could be resolved.

The situation was this, as Elphir delivered it to him the moment he had dismounted in the courtyard of his home: King Éomer, their good friend and ally, was missing.

At first Imrahil had thought his sons were simply making a mountain out of a molehill, and he stated that the man would be found somewhere in the palace, where he had got lost after taking a wrong turn. But his eldest son's face was dead serious, while his brothers were pale with such looks of horrified guilt as the Prince had never seen before. Slowly and painfully, the news sunk in. Éomer truly was nowhere to be found.

In strained voices, his sons made clear to him what had happened last night. Amrothos described how he had persuaded the king to join him for a visit to a tavern in the city, their journey there, and then that moment he had noticed the Rohirric king was gone. One of his guards had stayed behind and passed out in the table, while the second one was found on a narrow street, badly wounded. Soon enough it became clear that the sleeping one had been drugged, as he remained unconscious despite all attempts to wake him up. At the very least, no body had been found yet. Imrahil took this as a hopeful sign, and he was sure any idiot would know Éomer was far more valuable alive than dead.

Amrothos was the one who had made the alarm. Though he had been quite drunk at the time, he had enough sense left to be distressed when Éomer went missing. Guards of the city, Éomer's own riders and Swan Knights had spent the rest of the night looking for the king but at the moment of Imrahil's return, he was still lost.

The lecturing Imrahil gave to his sons was fiercer than anything he had delivered in years, for his fear and concern for not just their friend, but for all of them betrayed him. He dared not think of the evil things that would befall if Éomer was lost forever, or the blow it would be for the House of Dol Amroth if it was their negligence that caused his demise. But eventually, he saw the agony on the faces of the three princes and understood they were just as afraid. They knew full well the catastrophe that could ensue and their guilt already tormented them enough. So, mastering his emotions at last, Imrahil gave orders to renew the search with more men, and to gather all information from the ports that could be found.

And then there was the King's Guard. Éothain their captain seemed calm and collected, and Imrahil could tell it was him only that was keeping the Rohirrim in line, but in his eyes the Prince could see a dangerous fire. If Éomer could not be found, who knew what this horselord would tell his men to do? Nightmarish visions of elite Riders going on a rampage in the city of Dol Amroth did cross Imrahil's mind. Consoling and reassuring Éothain took some effort, but eventually the captain left to marshal the Riders again and to join the search parties once more. Imrahil shuddered inside his very skin. He had seen what Rohirrim were capable of and he really did not want the Muster of Rohan storming Belfalas in vengeance for their lost king.

His sons went on to carry out his commands while the Prince of Dol Amroth was left in his study, doubting and fearing for the outcome that this turn of events would have. With a sigh, he collapsed to sit in his chair and he rubbed fingertips against his scalp to ease his headache. He still needed to write to Aragorn and to Lady Éowyn. He shuddered once more when he thought of what the Slayer of the Witch-king might do if her brother was not discovered safe and sound.

It was then Ivriniel, his sister, made her appearance. Though her injury had left her with a limp and she always used a cane now, otherwise years had been kind to her. She stood tall and proud, her back straight and unbent. Her hair was braided and gathered in a tight bun at the nape of her neck and she wore a dark blue gown with simple silver embroideries. She had never liked the court life, but the society still regarded her as a woman of rare dignity in Gondor. Imrahil suspected even Denethor had feared her a little.

"I really do not have the time right now, sister", Imrahil muttered in a pained voice, not lifting his eyes to meet the cool pair that had earned her the name "Ice Princess".

"You should, brother. I have some news", she stated simply, disregarding his discomfort. Sometimes, he rather wondered what would come out of it if Ivriniel and Aragorn were put in the same room alone. It was probably in everyone's interests that this would never happen.

"News? About what?" he asked wearily.

"Lothíriel did not return home last night", she answered as she took seat opposite him.

Imrahil's head popped up.

"What? Has something happened to her? Elbereth, not this too! We cannot deal with this right now!" he stammered in a rare bout of nervous attack. His only daughter! Oh, he had always known it was a bad idea to let her pursue a trade so dangerous!

"No, I don't think so. Calm yourself, brother, for I believe I have some idea of where she is right now", Ivriniel said evenly, folding her hands in her lap.

"Well?" he asked, looking at her anxiously.

"The day before yesterday, I sent her to spy on a certain group of Umbarian merchants. You know of them, of course, and it was due to your concerns I sent her to look into them. She was supposed to return last night and report to me her findings, but she never did", Ivriniel explained in her slow and steady manner, which now made him rather want to shake her. His patience was much less than usual.

She leaned back and continued, "This morning, I received some very intriguing news. Not only had your sons taken the missing king to the very inn those Umbarians were staying at, but it also appeared that they had departed in haste during the night. Furthermore, a ship left the port the same night despite the storm that was coming from the sea. The ship masters seem to think it was no Gondorian ship, but supposedly one used by southern merchants."

Imrahil stared at his sister. While he had imagined several different scenarios as to what could have happened to Éomer, _this_ was about the worst possibility. A bunch of corsairs capturing the King of Rohan! Could it be true? Had his friend fallen into the hands of those filthy pirates? And what hope was there of ever rescuing him, if that was the case?

"Elbereth have mercy", he whispered, slumping in his chair. He would have to send ships, of course, he would do that as soon as he was able to pick himself up from this chair, but with their head start, the pirates could already be out of reach. The only thing Gondor could do now was prepare for war... to rain such vengeance on the lands of Southrons that it would be remembered ten generations later.

"Oh, but she does", Ivriniel said, sounding unreasonably relaxed. "Imrahil, I believe your daughter is on that ship."

"What?! Ivriniel, how could that possibly be true?" he demanded to know, jolting upright once more.

"Well, she was watching this very band of pirates, wasn't she? And she didn't return last night? If Lothíriel was there, then she saw them taking him", she answered calmly.

"But if she did, why didn't she tell anyone? Why didn't she raise the alarm? What if they killed her?" Imrahil shot questions at his sister and gripped tight the armrests of his chair.

"Because I didn't teach her that way. She knows not to expose herself so foolishly. And if I have any insight to the way that girl thinks, and I am fairly sure that I _do,_ she decided it would only compromise the life of King Éomer if she made the alarm. Believe me, brother – she is alive. She is on that ship", Ivriniel stated and smiled slightly.

"How do you know?" he demanded, staring at her hard. Lady Ivriniel met the gaze and the smile on her face grew into a broad one – a most unusual expression on her face. He couldn't even remember the last time he had seen her smile.

"Oh, brother! How many times do I have to tell you? When will you begin to understand? _This_ is what we do. This is why we exist. Don't worry about your daughter. She has trained all her life for this and she knows everything she needs to survive among those pirates. Imrahil, if Lothíriel was able to board their ship, then King Éomer already has all the help he needs."

* * *

After Dagalur had made up his mind about their second captive, two of his men had taken Lothíriel below the deck and to the cells. As the ship was about to set sail and all hands would be needed on deck to battle the storm, they gave her only a brief search; they relieved her of a purse of silver, but didn't discover she was not a boy, nor did they pay any attention to what she might be hiding in her boots. The princess acted demurely and even managed to produce a few tears, of which Aunt would have been proud. Faking crying had always been a little difficult for her.

Lothíriel was glad to see her cell was opposite that of the horselord. They were more like cages, really, and the locks didn't look too complicated when she examined her door. She refrained from snorting. Planning their escape would be almost too easy, at least as long as the ship didn't take them to the high seas.

Meanwhile, the King of Rohan remained unconscious. He probably wouldn't be waking up any time soon, because the two men who had captured him hadn't looked like expert poisoners, and she imagined they would have exaggerated the amount this man needed to go down. At any rate, she decided it was for the best. He would just panic if he was awake, and she needed to get out of this cell first.

Chewing her lip, she wondered how difficult it would be to fool Dagalur. Granted, she had managed very well back at the quay, but then his attention was mostly on greater matters, and the idea of braving the storm had distracted him. And the King of Rohan presented an unknown factor. What would he do once he woke up? Would he listen to her, or would she even get a chance to talk to him? How much she should tell him, anyway? Maybe it wasn't a good idea to tell him right away who she was – he would just try to be a hero for the sake of her father and do something that put them both at risk.

It was not long that the storm hit at last. Soon the ship was tumbling on the waves, riding high and low as the sea raged all around the vessel. It creaked and wailed and there were a couple of times Lothíriel was almost sure it was going to burst into pieces. Surely Ossë was doing his best to bring down this crew.

As for King Éomer, he remained blissfully unconscious through the storm. She counted him lucky for it, because she didn't think he had been to sea before, and this terrible weather might have made him very sick. Even she felt a little nauseated at the fiercest bout of the storm, and while she couldn't say that she hoped any fortune for the pirates, she did pray to Uinen to keep them afloat.

Lothíriel had already analysed about dozen likely scenarios as to her own fate on the ship by the time she was thrown in the cell. But in all truth, what came to pass did rather surprise her: as the storm raged on, one of the pirates stumbled through the door to demand whether she knew how to work a ship's deck. Apparently, a few men had already been lost to the sea and help was sorely needed.

She was not as good as her brothers – her own talents lay elsewhere – but she had enough skill to at least try. Or, she had enough _guts_ to try. Either way, Lothíriel quickly delivered a rather nice speech on how her father had practically been born of the sea, and she wasn't even finished yet before the door of the cage was thrown open and she was dragged all the way up to the deck.

The spying princess was in luck: the worst of the storm had already passed. For if they had still been riding fierce waves and battling the tempest in that case, she would not have been able to fool these villains. But with enough concentration and remembering Erchirion's lessons, she played her part on the deck as well as she could hope. The wind and sea spray whipped at her face but she tried to take it as toughly as any sea dog would.

It was a fierce fight, even if they were riding the outskirts of the storm. Lothíriel hardly had time to worry about the King of Rohan down underneath the deck, but her consolation was that everyone else was too busy to wonder about him, too.

The sea was not gentle that night, and so by the time the rain was reduced to soft drizzle and the waves rolled underneath more softly, it was clear that the ship had taken some serious damage. The sails were tatters and it was no small job to replace them. The first mate reported the steering was not working the way he would have liked. They had also lost one mast during the storm.

Though Lothíriel felt about as weathered and worn by the time Captain Dagalur gathered them on the deck, she also felt a secret hope in her heart. It was clear the ship was not in good shape, so perhaps these poor bastards would give up their bold attempt? Then again, it could mean just throwing the King of Rohan over the board and pretending innocence when some Amrothian ship reached them... well, that was something she would have to try and prevent.

"Well, lads, I won't lie", said Dagalur, standing on some stairs that lead to the upper deck. He was no better than the rest of these pirates, but at least he appeared to care about his crew.

"We are beaten down rather bad by the old man of the sea. You all know the damage this ship has taken – most of you saw it yourselves as that damned storm threw us about the waves. It's going to take extensive repairs and time we don't have. The Gondorians will already have noticed that the Rohirric king is missing, and it's only a matter of time they send their entire fleet to look for him. Dol Amroth's fastest ships will be on us before we even know it", he spoke gravely, looking around the faces of his men.

There were some mutters among the crew, until one of them spoke up loudly.

"I say we throw him overboard. If there's no proof of him being here, what can those Amrothians do to us?" said a tall, thin man with a rather unpleasant expression. His suggestion received a few approving grunts and mutters.

"What _won't_ they do to us, though?" Lothíriel spoke up loudly, much to the general astonishment. It seemed that each pair of eyes on the deck was now turned towards her, and some of them looked like they were genuinely surprised to see she was still around.

"What do you mean?" Dagalur asked harshly.

"Captain, the lad is one of them Gondorians. He's trying to trick us somehow", said the nasty looking man who had suggested drowning the King of Rohan.

"Why would I want to trick you? I was trying to get away from Dol Amroth just as much as you were. And if their ships catch us, they're most likely to think I'm in some kind of a league with you lot", Lothíriel pointed out and forced herself to stay motionless, even though the air was thick with threat and suspicion. If these pirates decided she was not trustworthy... well, there were all too many things here that could go wrong.

But she was a spider. And her webs were not always spun to kill.

"What's your name, boy?" Dagalur asked her sharply.

"Candir, sir", she responded readily.

"Go on, lad", he said after a moment of consideration. Some of his men groaned, but he shot them a warning glare.

"Well, do you really think the departure of this ship went unnoticed by harbour masters? They keep a book on every ship that enters and leaves the port. Not a single vessel does _anything_ in Dol Amroth without them knowing about it. And they know _exactly_ what this ship looks like and how strong your crew is. You effectively announced your own guilt by setting sail at the eve of a storm when any reasonable mariner would have sat tight in some nice tavern and wait for fairer weathers. They _know_ it was you who abducted the King of Rohan. They'll send the Prince's entire fleet straight after this ship. And once they reach us – and I promise you they _will –_ what do you think they will do to you if they don't find the horselord alive and well? If you don't hurt him now, at least you will have something to bargain with", she stated, calm and collected. She knew she was rather exaggerating the expertise and competency of the harbour masters of Dol Amroth, but these men didn't need to know that. The more they feared the sea skill of the Amrothian fleet, the better.

There was a brief silence, and then the crew began whispering among themselves again. Not a few of them looked a little nervous; she had them nicely on the hook now. But she would have to tread carefully. It would not be a good idea to send them to panic.

"Well, what do you suggest we do, then?" Dagalur asked and came down the steps, approaching Lothíriel with a threatening look on his face. She took a step back and kept her hand from reaching for the small knife in her boot.

"They will expect you to sail straight for Umbar. They will pursue you there with their fastest ships. But if we set another course right now, I think it's possible to avoid them", she started carefully.

"Another course? Where would that be?" Dagalur demanded to know and halted to stand before her. His eyes narrowed, he searched her face intently. The man was trying to decide whether or not she was speaking falsehoods.

"Sail for Pelargir. It's close enough we can make it there, even with this damage. You'll be able to make the repairs and lay low while the Amrothian fleet hunts for you at high seas. Then, once the ship is seaworthy again and the worst uproar has died, you sail down to Umbar, nice and quiet", she explained and offered a smile to the corsair captain.

"And do you suggest every ship in Pelargir won't be searched for the horselord?" asked one man standing nearby.

"Of course not. But hasn't any of you ever been to Pelargir? Plenty of folk live there who wouldn't mind helping you out and hide the prisoner while the ship is docked. They don't care about Rohirrim or their king, if the price is right. Just drug him again and slip him out before landing, keep him locked down in some nice cellar, and then wait for your window to sail home. It is all very simple", she responded and shrugged nonchalantly. She was well aware she was handing them a plan of escape that was actually feasible even with the risks, but then... they didn't know they had a spider in their midst.

Once more quiet conversations rose among the crew, but the overtone was much more approving than before. Even Dagalur looked like he was close to being convinced.

"Tell me, boy", he inquired suddenly, "why are _you_ so eager to help out? The King of Rohan is friend to your country."

She shrugged again.

"What do I care about some Northman who can't stay out of trouble? They'll just put another like him on the throne", she dismissed the question with a disinterested tone. Of course, things would hardly be so simple if King Éomer came to harm. She knew enough of what had been going on in the north to understand his death could very well be a blow Rohirrim wouldn't be able to recover from. But this harbour-grown lad she was pretending to be wasn't supposed to understand politics very deeply, and it was better if these men believed that, too.

Dagalur considered her thoughtfully. She kept her face blank and her posture as relaxed as she could. If he saw any signs she was nervous, it would surely put him off and betray her lie.

"I must wonder, though", he stated at length and watched her face intently, "how does a small harbour rat come up with these marvellous plans?"

"When you grow up in a port and there's not a soul in the world who gives a damn about you, you learn to think on your feet", she answered, meeting the corsair's eyes calmly.

"Well, that's something I can't argue with", muttered a short, burly pirate by Dagalur's elbow.

The captain turned to talk with him in hushed tones and she guessed the man was his first mate. She tried to strain her hearing to catch the whispers between the two pirates, but leaning closer would have looked rather suspicious and she didn't want to risk what could be her only chance of winning the trust of these corsairs.

At last Dagalur turned to regard her once more.

"My first mate and I agree your little scheme could be our only chance of avoiding capture", he announced in a loud voice, making sure not a single member of the crew heard him. "If it helps us to avoid the Gondorians, I will see that you are handsomely rewarded, Candir."

Lothíriel made a little bow, clumsy enough it could be a street rat's attempt at courtesy, and then Dagalur turned to look around his crew once more.

"You heard the boy. Our best chance is to try for Pelargir, and if we mean to pull that off, we need to get to work at once. You know we lost some good lads fighting that storm, and I need every one of you to pull their weight until we reach that damn port. Otherwise, we may just sit right here and wait till the Gondorians get us. Is this clear?" he spoke in strong, loud voice.

"Yes, captain!" the crew shouted in unison.

 _Well,_ Lothíriel thought to herself, _that went better than expected._

* * *

The first thing Éomer knew upon waking was the most horrific headache he had experienced in a long time. He was groggy and a little sick and for the first five minutes, he was not certain whether he was going to throw up or not.

With a groan he turned on his side and now something occurred to him: this was not the bed in the guest rooms of Prince Imrahil's palace. His cheek was against wood that smelled like tar and salt and sea.

His eyes flew open. Initially he didn't comprehend what he was seeing, and he was half convinced he was still in some kind of a strange dream, induced by Erchirion and Amrothos' endless talk about ships. But his parched mouth and headache were far too tangible and his muscles too sore that _this_ could be anything else than the waking world.

Éomer could hardly believe what he was seeing: he was in a cell. His first absurd thought was they had got too drunk, caused trouble, and got themselves arrested. _Wouldn't be the first time, that,_ he thought wryly. But soon enough he realised it was not so, and in his chest there was a sinking sensation.

This was no cell in Dol Amroth.

He sat up, though it made him feel like a hammer fell against his forehead, and he rubbed his temples. What had happened? Where was he? Where were Amrothos and Erchirion and his two guards? His heart hurt even worse when he struggled to remember…

The King of Rohan was still trying to make sense of bits and pieces of images that jumbled around in his head when the door leading to the cells was pushed open. Éomer looked up and tensed, and then he saw a young lad stepping inside. He was holding a lantern in one hand and a waterskin in the other. His face was only slightly less dirty than his tattered clothes, which looked like they had never fit his scrawny form very well. His cap was a little silly, but his young face was dead serious.

Éomer would rather have liked to demand and have the waterskin this stranger was carrying, but instead he rose up on his feet – he had to crouch, because the cell was not very high. He was also vaguely aware he was not making a very threatening picture, what with the way he was swaying a little. He still felt sick and standing up did nothing for his headache.

"Where am I and why have you imprisoned me? Who are you?" he barked, or tried to – his voice was raspy and weak.

"First of all, I need you to calm down", the lad answered and put the lantern aside. "And maybe sit down – you look like you're about to collapse."

"Boy, I warn you -" Éomer started, but the boy shot a sharp glare with his bright grey eyes at him.

" _Hláford min!"_ he hissed, effectively silencing the Rohir. This was about the last place in the world he would have expected to hear his own tongue.

Éomer stared. Once again doubt was growing in his mind: maybe he _was_ in a dream, after all. Because the possibility of him being locked inside some kind of a cell that was _not_ in any house on land and being scolded by a street rat in his own northern language was simply too absurd to be happening.

"What -" he started again, but once more he was disallowed from finishing his sentence.

"My lord king, I need you to be quiet for two minutes. I'll explain everything. But first you must promise me something and it is a matter of life and death that you do", the boy whispered, stepping closer to the bars of the cell.

"Explanation would be nice indeed", Éomer grunted. "What do I need to promise?"

"That you will trust me absolutely", the boy said in a very serious tone. His stare held Éomer's own without blinking.

"Give me one reason", the Rohir said, narrowing his eyes.

"Prince Imrahil sent me. I'm here to help you, but if you do not trust me, I'm not sure what I can do for either of us. So do you promise?" the lad demanded. He was surprisingly forcible for someone so young and skinny.

But there was also the fact how practically everything he said raised only more questions. His grasp of Rohirric, his insistence he could not only explain everything but also help out the young king, and his claim that he was here on Imrahil's behalf… Éomer would rather have liked to know what this all was about, but something told him they did not have the time it would have required.

"Very well", he said at last, though a little doubtfully. He didn't take seat, but rather took support of the bars. "Please begin with why I am in this cell."

The lad made a face.

"There's no easy way to say this", he said at length, "but there's no sense in sugar-coating it. My lord, you have been abducted by Umbarian pirates. We are currently on their ship, sailing for Pelargir to lay low while Prince Imrahil's entire fleet is looking for you."

" _What in the name of -"_ Éomer began, and his voice rose with each word, until the boy grabbed his hand in a surprisingly tight grip.

" _Be quiet!"_ he hissed once more. "I barely managed to sneak down here without anyone noticing!"

The King of Rohan fell silent. Now horror pounded inside his skull with the headache as he tried to wrap his mind around the terrible fact: he was prisoner to a bunch of pirates! They were shipping him Béma knew where, and it was all too easy to guess what they meant to do with him. To make things worse, he had absolutely no idea of how to get himself out of this one without getting killed. And Éothain was probably going _mad_ right now, and it was all his fault… he should have… should have…

"Focus, my lord", a voice spoke, and he became aware he had been growling curses for past two minutes. A pair of grey, anxious eyes were staring him down. "I know it looks bad right now, but I'm already working on a plan to free you. Don't worry. I'm going to get us out of here. You just need to hang in there a little while."

"Imrahil sent you? Are you some kind of a spy?" Éomer asked and noted how thin his voice came out.

"He did. Sort of", the lad answered and looked around himself. The young king refrained from snorting in disbelief. The skinny boy didn't look like he could free a potato if he tried.

But then, he knew appearances could be deceiving.

"Why should I trust you?" he asked at length. He almost sounded calm now, much to his wonder.

A wry little smile touched the boy's face.

"Because I am your only chance of getting out of this mess, my lord", he stated solemnly.

"... aye. That you are", Éomer agreed, albeit a little reluctantly. Nevertheless, he gave the lad one of his more ferocious glares, and spoke in low tones, "But may revenge fall on you swift and merciless if you are trying to trick me."

Whether he liked it or not, the boy was saying nothing more and nothing less than the truth: right now, all his chances and all his hopes depended on this scrawny youth who looked like he had never got a hearty meal or a good scrubbing. What was more, he had never met the boy before and there was no guarantee of him actually being in Imrahil's service. And even if that was true, what could a street rat from Dol Amroth do against a crew of bloodthirsty corsairs?

Éomer would have liked to think he had made it through with worse odds… but he wasn't sure he could.

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** And the plot thickens! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. :)

I'm sorry it took so long to post this chapter. Originally I meant to do so early last week, but the nearly finished draft was not... I did not like it. It moved way too fast and things were happening more because of dumb luck than because active decisions by characters. So, though I realised discarding it meant I would have to do a major re-write, I decided to do so as I was convinced everyone (including myself) would like this second version much better. And I'm glad that I did, because it runs much more smoothly and makes more sense.

Éomer and Lothíriel have now met, except not really. For one, he doesn't even know yet that she's actually a girl! :D However, it seems clear to me she wouldn't just reveal herself right away. She's used to doing things on her own and she believes it would only make things worse if he knew her true identity. But we'll get there eventually!

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

 _hláford min -_ my lord

* * *

 **sai19 -** I am glad to hear that! :)

 **MissCallaLilly -** Thank you!

 **EStrunk -** Happy to hear you liked it! I imagine her poor brothers are feeling _very_ guilty right now. I admit I rather enjoy the fed up Lothíriel having to go and clean up their mess! And it's great fun to be inside her head. She feels much more snarky than I expected when starting this story.

 **Doranwen -** Thank you! I hope you enjoyed this chapter and her antics. :)

 **outlawwoman -** Glad to hear that! :)

 **A -** Well, here you go!

 **Jo -** It's going to take some manoeuvring, but maybe she can actually pull it off!

 **Nerdanel -** Yes, it is great fun to write a proper adventure every now and then! :)

 **Anon -** :D We'll see about that! Glad you're liking the storyline!

 **Guest -** All in good time! ;) The stage needs to be set properly first, you see.

 **AngusH -** Glad to hear you think so! :)

It's surprisingly amusing concept, really. And he's in for such a surprise when he finds out the truth about her!

 **Merakia -** Oh boy, they really are in a trouble now! But we'll see how this all goes. And I'm very happy to hear your thoughts on Lothíriel. It's good to know I've managed to make her so multifaceted. :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Imrahil sent immediately for all three of his sons and lieutenants when Ivriniel had gone. He knew speed was of utmost importance now, and though his sister was perfectly trustful that Lothíriel could manage, Imrahil still did not like the idea of her facing those corsairs all alone. Well, not alone, if Éomer was unhurt and able to contribute in his own saving. But while Ivriniel seemed to think it would all resolve itself, Imrahil couldn't just sit by and wait without doing anything. And perhaps, if the corsairs were put between rock and a hard place by the fleet of Dol Amroth, it would help Lothíriel to carry out her own part. Ivriniel had said the girl would try to deceive them first, try to get them land somewhere that was not Umbar. But either way, it was likely she and Éomer were going to need someone to pick them up. For all purposes, Imrahil wanted all his ships on the move _now._

Once his sons and lieutenants were on their way and plans were in motion, the Prince of Dol Amroth sent summons to another captain. He still needed to write updates for Aragorn and Lady Éowyn, but Éothain probably was quite anxious for tidings and it wouldn't be wise to keep him waiting. Imrahil shuddered. Though he was usually mild and pleasant with his friends, Captain Éothain was not a man you wanted to cross. Where Éomer himself had received schooling in the ways of Gondor and he could temper his more Rohirric tendencies when necessary, his second in command did not have the benefit of royal education on his side. And Imrahil had witnessed the handiwork of King's Captain in training rings; he would be much more comfortable if those formidable skills were never put in serious use except against real enemies.

Captain Éothain arrived less than ten minutes later. A manservant announced him and ushered the man into the study. Somehow the Rohir seemed lacking in a curious way and the reason was clear to Imrahil. It was rare to see the King's Captain without his liege-lord, and when Éomer was not around, Éothain almost grew smaller in a way.

"You asked for me, my lord?" Captain Éothain spoke in low tones. He had been spending most of his time with his men, overseeing them in searches for Éomer, and just generally keeping them calm. Imrahil was silently very thankful for the man's efforts. It was in no one's interests that the situation turned into chaos.

"Yes, indeed. I have some news", said Imrahil and he gestured at the chair opposite himself. He wasn't sure if it was just a feeling or not, but it looked like Éothain only sat down because he was trying to be polite.

"Good or bad?" asked the Rohir warily.

"Both, I'm afraid", said the Prince and he let out a sigh. He proceeded to explain all that Ivriniel had related to him, and his heart sunk when he saw the way Captain Éothain's expression grew more and more thunderous. Quickly he added that ships were already on way to hunt down the pirates.

"So you mean to say", said the blond man at length, sounding so patient and calm it could only be the outward signs of intense anger, "that my king, the last of his line and the hope of his people, is not only missing, but he has been captured by pirates? And their ship is probably halfway down to Umbar as we speak?"

"It looks like that, unfortunately", Imrahil said, trying to sound just as calm. It might reassure the captain at least a little bit. "But like I said, he's not without friends. We have a reason to believe that one of my spies boarded the ship and is working right now to free him. Moreover, last night there was a savage storm at the sea. We hope it has delayed the corsairs from getting very far."

While Imrahil did not take pleasure in omitting some facts, he had not told Captain Éothain the spy was in fact his own daughter. For one, he wasn't sure the Rohir could comprehend it, and secondly Ivriniel had always insisted it should be kept as a secret. According to her, it was what made the Ladies of the Hidden Blade so effective. And to be honest, the captain presently had enough to burden his mind.

"A reason to believe? You mean, you don't actually _know_ if Éomer alone or not?" asked the Rohir in a dangerous tone. He looked like he might leap from the chair any second now.

"I know how this must sound to you, Lord Éothain", Imrahil said and attempted his best to keep his tone soothing. "But so much about the situation is unclear even to me. The spy in question was on another mission, following the same pirates we suspect of this foul deed. However, she did not return at the due time and her supervisor believes she witnessed the capture of our friend. Believe me, Captain, if this is the case, then the spy in question will have dropped her original mission and boarded the ship to watch over Éomer and help him to escape."

"So it's a she", said Éothain apprehensively. Imrahil supposed the tone was because the man was not used to thinking of Gondorian ladies as fierce and brave as the womenfolk of Rohan. As a matter of fact, the skills and abilities of Ladies of the Hidden Blade were probably something no one would believe, north or south.

"Yes, and she is perhaps the best trained among all my servants. She is skilled in deception and subterfuge and she is a deadly fighter. My lord, if there is anyone in this world you would want aiding your king in this danger, it is her", said Imrahil. Of course, he had his own doubts, and his words were mostly lent from Ivriniel. But she had been calm and entirely trustful that Lothíriel had everything under control, and if Ivriniel had such faith... well, to panic now and spread his own fears to Captain Éothain would only do harm.

The Rohir still looked doubtful. In his blue eyes, there was a simmering fire and his fingers grasped the armrests of his chair tightly.

"You must see that is not enough for me. What do you suggest I tell my men? What do I say when they ask whether our king is ever coming back alive?" Éothain asked sharply.

Imrahil let out a sigh and he looked down briefly. It seemed to him this single morning had aged him at least ten years.

"I wish I knew what to tell you, Captain Éothain, but I do not. I am fully aware how extraordinary my words sound to you. But never for a moment must you think that I don't share your concern and dread. Éomer is my friend just as well. My House is responsible for his peril and we will do all that is possible and in our power to get him back. I have sent all three of my sons to lead the search parties, and under their command, all available ships will be looking for your king. I only ask that you have some patience with us. That you give us a chance to try to fix this", he said at last, solemn and quiet.

Something about the Captain's features softened. It appeared there was some impact to Imrahil's words at last – or maybe his own appearance had just betrayed the guilt and fear he felt for the sake of the man who was friend to them both.

Imrahil breathed a little easily. He had not yet lost Éothain's good faith. But could Lothíriel live up to these expectations? She was so young and she didn't have her aunt's experience or cunning...

Yet his sister's message was clear: they needed to trust his daughter now. And Ivriniel did not have a single fanciful bone in her body, so perhaps... perhaps she was right. Perhaps she had trained Lothíriel that well.

He only hoped she was right.

* * *

Lothíriel was not sure she had actually managed to win King Éomer's trust during her brief visit to his cell. He had not looked terribly impressed with her, but she considered it was perhaps a sign of him having a healthy grasp on reality that he did not immediately take her word for it. In his situation, how could he? A shiver ran down her spine when he had glared at her and declared revenge in case she was deceiving him, and at once she had understood why this horselord had such a formidable reputation. It had almost made her feel like she was somehow leading him on.

Even so, he had not hesitated when she had given him the waterskin, and he almost drunk it entirely in one go. Poor man must be having the hangover of century, judging by how sick and full of suffering he had looked like. Once she got back home, she and her brothers would have some words on how to watch over a foreign king. In fact, she was going to be most surprised if the unlucky Rohir did not declare war on Dol Amroth the moment his feet touched solid ground and he was free again.

But though she hated to leave him alone and sympathised with how awful he must be feeling, Lothíriel excused herself soon enough; she wasn't supposed to be visiting him and she didn't want the crew wondering where she had vanished. So she told him to stay put for the time being and have some faith in her, and then she had left him alone in the cells again. If this ragged ship could hold it together, and the even more ragged crew did their job of avoiding Amrothians, they might be seeing the shores of Gondor again as soon as nightfall.

Of course, there was the possibility one ship or the other from her father's fleet reached them before that. It could solve all their problems, or it could make things worse. She still didn't fully trust these pirates not to outright murder their prisoner if they spotted the sails of an Amrothian ship approaching theirs. But she would worry about it only if it came to pass, and in any case she was very much making this up as she went along. Not that she had yet told King Éomer _that._ The man had enough to deal with as it was, and she worked better if he didn't try to meddle with her process. It would be easier to focus on her objective if she didn't need to try and manage his panicking on the side.

Slipping back to the deck, she gave around herself a quick glance. It didn't seem like anyone had noticed her absence. Swiftly she got busy with her earlier task of inspecting whether any of the sails used during the storm could be salvaged, and pretended she had never even thought of freeing Rohirric kings. But when she looked around herself again, her eyes briefly locked with the man with the Black Serpent insignia. She did not know what it was that put him off, but for a second his eyes narrowed as he stared at her. Lothíriel conjured an expression of embarrassment at prolonged eye contact and went along. She made sure to watch her back closely afterwards.

The next few hours were harrowing. The crew members were already weary from battling the storm, and though the first mate had organised turns for rest and some food, it was hardly enough to restore them while there was still the task of keeping the damaged ship afloat and sailing. Occasional brawls broke out, but Dagalur dealt with them swiftly and sternly. Under his command, they might even make it to Pelargir.

Lothíriel tried to stay out of the way, but she couldn't steer entirely clear from notice; her failure at securing one rope in time earned her an angry scolding from an older member of the crew. But a fierce glare from the first mate ended the scene before the angry pirate could shout more abuse at her, and she tried to make herself as small and inconspicuous as possible.

Before long, there was a sudden disturbance just below the deck. Shouting rose and there were sounds of a struggle. Lothíriel tensed instinctively and looked up to see a few members of the crew rushing down below. In a few minutes, the prisoner was dragged out.

Five men were around him, and four of them had some sort of minor injuries. King Éomer himself looked to be fine, although his expression implied he was probably going to bite off some fingers very soon. Lothíriel focused to keep her expression vaguely interested as she watched the pirates trying to manage him; she didn't want to betray uncommon fascination, but neither did she want to appear as though she was purposefully trying not to look at the man. To herself she considered it was good the horselord had this fighting spirit. And if he was able to give the corsairs this much trouble even when he was without weapons... well, maybe escape would not be that hard.

But even so, it was still the two of them against an entire crew of corsairs, and the Rohir still did not entirely trust her. If this lot felt cornered and lost their hope of escaping her father's fleet, they were likely to become very dangerous and unpredictable. She needed to make sure this didn't happen until they had reached land.

There were more moving parts to this scheme than she liked. But Aunt had trained her to adapt and to improvise... and as long as the pirates did not know the enemy was already in the middle of them, she would have advantage.

From the corner of her eye, she watched as King Éomer was taken to see Dagalur. She could guess only too well how _that_ confrontation would turn out.

 _Good. Keep his eye fixed on you, and let the spiders do their spinning..._

* * *

For the first time in his adult life, Éomer was finding himself in a plight where, to be entirely and brutally honest, he was not sure what he should do. He had been to some very bad situations where survival had not seemed likely, but he had always been able to come up with _something,_ either to stall the enemy until help could come or manoeuvre to save his own skin and those of his men. As a prisoner to a bunch of pirates, he was entirely helpless. And he knew no aid was coming.

However, as chance willed it, he was not without allies: here on this ship was also a young, skinny lad who was telling him that he had some sort of a plan to escape the ship. It was ludicrous, really, and he wasn't sure he trusted this boy, even if he had mentioned Imrahil's name. But in his current predicament, Éomer knew he didn't have much of a choice. Moreover, no matter how hard he had looked, he had not found falsehood in the boy's eyes. And Éomer fancied himself a keen judge of people's honesty.

He would have liked to know how the boy had got on this ship in the first place, but there had not been a chance to interrogate him properly – the youth had been too worried about being caught in Éomer's company. Before slipping out again he had announced his name was Candir, but there was the faintest shift on his features that made the Rohir wonder if it was his real name.

He rubbed his face and thought about what Éothain was doing now. His heart ached when he imagined his friend's worry and distress when the young king couldn't be found. It was certain the captain would know by now that Éomer was missing; he could only wonder the pressure he was putting on the princes in order to find the King of Rohan. But they wouldn't know where to look.

Even so, perhaps this did not have to be the end of him. It all depended on whether a young Amrothian lad could fool the entire crew of scheming cut-throats. The sheer idea seemed absurd, but on the other hand... in the boy's bright grey eyes there had been something… there was something unusual about this Candir, a kind of fire accompanied by lack of fear – like the boy believed he could do anything if he really wanted it. Was it madness to consider even for a moment maybe there _was_ a chance the young spy could free him, somehow?

The Rohir shook his head and ran a hand through his tangled hair. If he got out of this mess cleanly, he would start to take things a little more seriously, find a wife, and never do anything reckless again. That should please his advisers.

Éomer expected his captors would make an appearance sooner or later. That it took so long of them had been briefly explained to him by Candir: apparently, there had been a very bad storm and the ship had taken a serious amount of damage during it. So, as he reasoned, the crew and its captain were too busy to pay attention to their prisoner, who was safe and sound behind the lock anyway.

Momentarily he considered the boy was merely a part of the pirates' ploy: their captain had sent him to talk with Éomer and win his trust. But incidentally, this seemed even more improbable than what Candir had told him. Nothing about this whole affair implied long and intricate plotting. The corsairs could not have known about his upcoming visit, or Amrothos' whim to take him to the particular tavern where he was spotted and caught, and they surely would have thought of a better escape plan than braving the sea during a horrible storm. All in all, the idea that Imrahil employed foolhardy street rats and used them as spies was much more likely.

He was glad the sneaky boy had got to him before the pirates did. At least he now knew the situation and his captors did not have surprise on their side. And he got an opportunity to calm his mind enough for him to be in control of his temper – although it didn't prevent him from throwing some punches and adding a few well aimed kicks when they were transporting him to see their leader. It was moderately easy to put up a fight under the deck, where the corridor was narrow and dark. There was only space for two men to be holding his arms, and they were not very strong. Of course, he knew it was not going to help his situation. But at least it made him feel a little better.

More men rushed down below the neck and the narrow corridor became so tight with limbs and shouts and sheer mass of people that Éomer was overpowered, and he was at last dragged out to the deck of the ship. To his satisfaction, he saw his struggling had caused two broken noses, a loss of few teeth, and one man's lip was bleeding so badly half his face was stained with blood. No doubt there would be many bruises as well. Let them know he wasn't going to be a compliant prisoner!

Air was fresh and clear and he breathed it deeply, glad to smell something else than his stuffy cell. Around him, he saw many hostile faces, but he also spotted the skinny figure of his secret ally. Not a single muscle twitched on his impassive face when their eyes briefly met. To himself, Éomer wondered if the boy was that good at pretending, or if there was some more sinister reason to his lack of reaction. But how could one so young either be so masterful at deceit, or so utterly depraved? If he got out of this alive and in one piece, he and Imrahil were going to have a long conversation.

Once his hands were tied behind his back, he was pushed into what looked like the captain's cabin. There waited a man leading these pirates. He was over half a head shorter than Éomer and more of a wiry sort of fellow. His shiny black hair was neatly fastened at the nape of his neck and his dark eyes shone with malevolence and threat; his expression very much implied it would be a waste of time to try and negotiate with him. The corsair captain was arrayed much like his crew, but a few pieces of jewellery, an onyx ring here and a gold brooch there set him apart as an officer of higher ranking.

There was a kick to Éomer's back, which forced him to fall on one knee, and he gritted his teeth to hold back a curse. He wouldn't give these villains the pleasure of seeing him daunted. He refused to shy away from the blade that roughly pressed between his shoulder blades.

"So", spoke the captain in a slow drawl, " _you_ are the King of Rohan. I must admit, I'm not as impressed as I expected to be."

"Maybe, if you hadn't come at me like a coward with your drugs and poisons, you wouldn't be so disappointed", Éomer jabbed steadily. Béma, what wouldn't he give to have Gúthwinë in his hand right now, and show these bastards how easy it was to catch him!

"A coward", said the captain, "or a smart man."

"From where I'm standing, it doesn't seem particularly _smart_ to snatch me straight from under the noses of two princes of Dol Amroth and then try to escape during a rather horrible storm. A smart man wouldn't have left so much for chance", said the Rohir, and something about his words apparently annoyed the pirate, judging by the scowl that appeared on his features.

"Even so, you are here now, under my mercy. Already we have a plan to avoid your precious friends from Dol Amroth. They may well search near and far for you, but it will be in vain: they won't be able to help you now", the pirate stated with a gloating smile.

Éomer met his eyes calmly.

"Don't underestimate the skill and strength of Dol Amroth", he said in cool tones. "Or Gondor, for that matter. If you hope to do the wise thing, then you should turn this ship right now and deliver me back to my friends and allies. Then I can give you my word you will sail back home safely. But if you insist on keeping this insane course of action, then may the Powers help you."

"Dol Amroth is far behind already. Do you not see, horsemaster? This is a chance that comes to a man only once in a lifetime. There is not a single sailor in my land who wouldn't take it, never mind the risks. Soon enough we shall reach the Havens of Umbar. There are many among my people who would give their left arm to see you brought to justice for things that you and your people did in the war", the pirate spoke, and the longer he went on, the more heated his tone became. A feverish light shone in his eyes, suggesting a hatred that ran deep and intense. It surprised Éomer a little. He had seen the devastation on the fields of Pelennor and known the casualties of Southron armies had been heavy, but this bitterness and blind anger still was much greater than he would have thought.

He could have pointed out his people had known loss too, or that the War of the Ring had not been a pleasant little party for them, or even noted how they were still struggling to survive. But to start and preach on how the Dark Lord had been the true enemy of all the peoples of West and South, and explaining that Éomer was not responsible for the consequences of allying with the Shadow? It would be a waste of time.

"Would they give their lives to see me punished, though?" he asked instead. "For death is surely what you and your people will get for your crime. King Elessar already knows that I've gone missing. He will soon learn it is you who took me. Your victory will be shortly lived, for he will march for Umbar with the might of Gondor and Rohan behind his back. And he will burn down your city until not a single stone is left standing."

Now the scowl rested on the captain's face for a longer moment than before. Some deep-set anger rose from within and he lashed out, his fist punching the young king hard against the centre of his stomach. Éomer momentarily lost his breath and he was left gasping for air.

Even so, he did not miss the man's following words.

"Maybe so", the captain snarled, "but you will not be there to see it."

* * *

Lothíriel was not particularly worried about what would happen between King Éomer and Captain Dagalur. Words would no doubt be exchanged, along with insults and threats and maybe a few punches here and there. But it was obvious the pirate wouldn't be keen to truly harm his prisoner. His interest in this unfortunate affair was selling the man to Gondor's enemies, not taking out his personal revenge on the horselord. She had already made her own analysis over Dagalur's character and she deemed that for him, chief reward lay in catching and delivering the King successfully to those who were more interested in bringing punishment. A man who could say he had carried out this deed would enjoy quite the reputation among the peoples Gondor and Rohan had long fought against and as far as she could see, Dagalur was very much aware of this. And she was glad for it. If King Éomer was harmed somehow and his ability to function – physically or mentally – was compromised, it would be much more difficult to free him.

Soon enough her assumptions were confirmed. The horselord was delivered to the deck and down below again to lock him up once more. He was looking even more furious than before, but it didn't seem like he had taken any injuries. There were five men transporting him and one of them kept a blade near to his neck at all times. _These pirates really are afraid of him,_ Lothíriel thought to herself. But then, it was only smart. King Éomer did have quite the reputation, and who knew what he would do if he managed to get a weapon in his hands…

Close to sunset they saw the shores of Tolfalas, the great isle near the coast of Gondor. They took shelter in a small natural harbour and waited for the darkness to fall. It would be safer to approach the mouth of Anduin when the sun was down. Standing by the railing, she watched the sun go down in the west. It was a lovely sight, the way skies were glowing with so many shades of orange and fiery red, and even the sea looked like it was catching on fire. Sometimes in her trade she got so distracted and forgot how beautiful world could be. Far away, she thought she could spot the sails of a ship… was it one of her father's, searching the seas for the missing king? Lothíriel wondered what was going on in Dol Amroth now. Father should be back already and he would have received the news. Had Aunt figured out and told him what had happened? Was the old woman aware that her pupil was here and working on a plan to fix this? It should console Father a little bit, knowing that King Éomer was not entirely without friends.

The sun sunk in the ocean with a final blaze and another night was come. Lothíriel let out a small sigh as she turned, knowing supper would be served shortly. She had been so preoccupied, she had scarcely given any thought to food before now. But it would be wise to eat properly and keep up her strength. Who knew what challenges lay ahead of them? She couldn't meet the dangers of this quest malnourished or lacking sleep. Like Aunt had so many times told her, the weakness of the body was a sure way to dull the sharpest of minds.

The food on the ship was nothing special. The bowl of fish stew she received from the cook didn't particularly tease one's appetite, and dipping hard biscuits in it softened them only a little. But Lothíriel tried to eat as enthusiastically as she could. A street rat like Candir would surely consider this a feast. From the corner of her eye, she saw the cook sending his assistant to take some scraps to the prisoner. She shuddered when she thought what the horselord would be given to eat.

Nearby, there was a group of corsairs eating and laughing together. Their leader seemed to be that same man who carried the sign of the Black Serpent, and soon enough she picked up from the conversation that his name was Shanum. He was talking in a loud voice about the horrors that were waiting for King Éomer once the ship reached Umbar. There was also a debate on how they should deal with him – if there should be some kind of an auction where the man would be sold to the highest bidder, and how much the captain would allow his crew to _"have fun"_ with the prisoner. With a devilish smile, Shanum started to plan a re-enactment of the Battle of Pelennor fields. Only this time, the outcome would be vastly different.

Lothíriel was able to hide her disgust at this conversation. Killing people was one thing, and capturing them for some kind of justice another, but this villain was talking about it like it was sport for him. She bit her tongue to keep from grimacing. Candir was not supposed to be worried about the King of Rohan or what awaited him in Umbar.

But though she didn't think her expression had revealed anything, from the corner of her eye she saw Shanum glancing at her way, again wearing that narrow-eyed look she had spotted earlier. It worried her a little, but she pretended she had noticed nothing. Was the man on to her? She hadn't given any reason to doubt her sincerity, had she? It was not a good thing on a closed environment such as this ship. However, she only needed to keep this up until they reached Pelargir, and then it wouldn't matter if Shanum suspected her or not.

Quickly she picked up her bowl and made to deliver it for cleaning. Maybe she could avoid the cook's eye and steal a little something more decent for King Éomer to eat...

* * *

After his confrontation with the captain, Éomer was swiftly delivered back to his cell. While it was hardly a very charming or comfortable place, he was thankful they left him alone. Either the crew had not enough men to spare one to watch him or they had decided the locks and bars were a sufficient ward.

With a groan he sat back in the cell and thought about the meeting with the corsair captain. He supposed it would have unnerved and troubled him more if it was just him alone against these pirates. Strangely enough the thought of Candir, as much as Éomer still distrusted him, gave him a measure of hope. Did it make any sense? Probably not. But on the other hand, maybe he needed to hold on to that precious inch right now. The alternative was too much to bear.

His sense of time long gone, Éomer did not know how much time passed while he sat alone in his cell, and the only interruption came in the form of one crew member, who brought him a bowl of what was probably supposed to be a supper. While he was indeed hungry, it was actually bit of a challenge to get the burned scraps of some kind of stew down. But he guessed he wasn't going to get anything better, and so he emptied the bowl in a rather heroic attempt.

He passed the time best he could, coming up with schemes of escape that were mostly either ridiculous or infeasible, and doing some simple exercises. It was a decent way to keep himself calm and chase away what was a prisoner's worst enemy: dullness. He wondered about Candir, too, and if the lad would make another appearance some time soon. Hopefully so, as the Rohir still had plenty of questions for the boy. Not to mention, he rather wanted a chance to make his potential helper to talk and get a better idea of his character. Perhaps it would give Éomer some insight as to how reliable this strange boy was.

It seemed that at least some things were going his way even at this time. As he sat there thinking of these things, Éomer suddenly heard movement from outside, and then the door opened. A slight figure slipped inside, as silent as a shadow. Candir was there, carrying a small bundle in his arms and moving so noiselessly it was almost unnerving. Maybe he _was_ a spy.

"Hello there", the boy greeted Éomer tentatively. "I hope you haven't yet decided to go mad?"

"No, not yet", said the Rohir with a snort. Granted, there was plenty about this situation one could lose his mind over, but perhaps not while there still seemed to be faintest glimmer of hope.

"That's good. It's important to keep up your spirits", said the boy as he came next to the cell. Éomer made a non-committal sound. He was staring at Candir hard, studying the features of this strange boy and trying to decide what to make of him.

"I brought some food for you", said the lad, either unaware or deliberately ignoring Éomer's probing stare. He handed his bounty over to the Rohir. There was a bit of dried fish, a piece of dark brown bread and a leathery apple. Candir hurried to speak, "I know it's not much of a meal. But it was hard enough to steal even these, what with the way the cook was watching me. I think he has another set of eyes in the back of his neck."

"It is quite all right. After the garbage they brought me before, this seems nothing short of a feast", Éomer reassured the lad. He was actually feeling a little moved that the boy was trying so hard on his behalf. "Thank you, Candir. Your efforts are appreciated more than you know."

A lopsided smile appeared on the youth's face.

"Just doing my job, Sire", he said swiftly.

The young king narrowed his eyes.

"Say, what _is_ your job? How did you happen to be around when I was taken? And why did you get on his ship instead of getting some help?" he inquired and dug into his second meal. All the while, he watched the boy's face keenly.

Candir had an explanation ready. He described his original mission and how it had caused him to be around when the pair of corsairs had dragged him unconscious to their friends. Then he proceeded to explain why he had judged his best chances lay with simply getting on the ship instead of making the alarm. After considering his words, Éomer had to agree they made much sense. Candir's quick thinking was probably the reason he was still alive.

"It seems like a dangerous job for one so young", Éomer noted after mulling over Candir's explanation for a while. Personally, he wouldn't send a lad to do something so perilous.

But Candir didn't seem to mind. He gave a small grin to the Rohir.

"See, that's why I get things done. People think I'm too small or too young to be worth their notice, or too stupid to understand important things. And so they never see me coming", he said lightly, and once more Éomer had to agree the lad had a point. He would probably have dismissed this unusual youth, too, had Candir been spying on him. He shuddered at the idea of Imrahil having such an asset in his sleeve. Thank the Powers his friend was much too decent to use it against his friends... hopefully.

"Even so, though I am grateful that you came after me, I cannot say whether it was very foolhardy or very brave of you", he said at length and took a bite of the apple. Candir let out laugh and bizarrely enough, Éomer noticed it was not a very boyish sound at all.

"Well, sometimes you just got to do what you got to do", said the boy, and Éomer grunted in agreement. He had thought Candir couldn't be more different from him, but it seemed they had at least something in common.

"Say, what about your family? Is... _this_ all you are?" Éomer asked on an impulse. But it was a valid question, he deemed. Where in the world did spies like Candir become?

The lad did not meet his eyes and for the first time the Rohir caught a glimpse of dishonesty. Or, at least he did not get the impression Candir wanted to answer his question.

"I do what I must because of my family. And sometimes _despite_ them", the boy answered slowly. It didn't really answer Éomer's question, but caused a hundred more to spring to his mind. The young king lifted his eyebrows in curiosity. While it had been clear from the start no ordinary lad did things like boarding a corsair ship and deceiving them into letting him to join the crew, Éomer now considered the youth was even more unusual than he had first thought.

"For what it's worth", he said eventually, "if we get out of this alive, I will see that you are rewarded according to your deed. And if Imrahil allows, you must visit Rohan. My people will want to meet you."

But Candir shook his head anxiously.

"Sire, I am most flattered you would show me such honour. But _if_ I can get us cleanly out of this, my part in it must stay as much a secret as possible", he said heatedly. Éomer opened his mouth to speak, but the boy carried on before he could say anything, "You see, I can't do my job if people know about me. As long as I am no one, I can become anyone."

The Rohir frowned. He could see the lad's point, but he did not like it. Though it was clear this young spy and his skills were something one could easily use for sinister purposes, here he was doing a genuinely good thing, trying to free the King of Rohan. So far, he had not betrayed anything particularly evil about himself. And yet he should not receive no thanks for his efforts? In the Riddermark, such favour as saving another's life were richly rewarded and remembered long after. But Candir seemed to live only for his job, and _in_ his job. Did he have anything outside of it?

He would have liked to point this out, but Candir was straightening himself once more and glancing at the door.

"Sire, I really need to get going before someone misses me. I'm not supposed to be here, as you know", said the boy softly.

Éomer would probably have said something affirmative and resigned himself for a lonely night that was most likely going to be interrupted by corsairs, but he never got that far. For it was then the door was thrown open.

He was only able to watch by helplessly the events that took place next. Three men burst in, much to Éomer's dismay. He saw Candir opening his mouth, but he was not able to get a single word out. And immediately it started looking like maybe not even him could lie his way out of _this._

"See? I told you this one can't be trusted. I say he's been in a league with the horsemaster from the start!" said the man in the middle. He was openly wearing the Black Serpent on the front of his loose, blood-red tunic.

"You've been mistaken -" Candir started quickly, but he was not given a chance to finish the sentence.

"Silence, boy! We caught you red-handed. Or were you _supposed_ to be here with the prisoner?" asked the man with the Black Serpent – obviously a leader to this little gang. His companions made noises of approval.

Éomer would dearly have liked to say something, but he knew he was just going to make it worse for Candir, and if he did try to defend the lad, it would confirm the suspicions of these men.

"I was just -" Candir tried again, but once more he was cut short.

"Take him! We'll see what captains has to say about this!"

Several things happened at once. Three pairs of arms pushed towards the lad. There was a struggle, and Candir's silly little cap fell... and a long, shining dark braid fell from underneath. For a second, every single man in the area froze in sheer surprise.

Maybe it was an accident. But even so, the second of astonishment it bought was not left unused: Éomer saw the flash of a small blade, quick little slash at the belt of one of the three men, and a ring of keys falling on the floor.

The corsairs recovered soon enough. By then, Candir's hands were already empty.

"Now this is just getting more interesting!" said the leader of the trio, and then he and his companions took Candir between them. "I imagine the captain will be most fascinated as well!"

Forgotten entirely in this turn of events, Éomer was left alone in the cells... with a ring of keys and a knife peeping out of Candir's hat, where it had been dropped with such sleight of hand as any pickpocket would appreciate. The message could not be clearer.

Well, apparently he was not going to run out of surprises any time soon. But even so, once he had got out of this cell and found his helper, they were going to have a long conversation about the fact that Candir was actually a girl!

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** So, Éomer is finally starting to catch up with the rest of us! Poor man is more than right to think there are still some surprises waiting for him. :)

I had to do a major re-write for this chapter too, and because of the changes I've made so far, I'm going to have to do some serious editing and re-writing with everything I've drafted so far. This is probably going to slow down the updating pace, but I honestly think the story runs much smoother now and it's generally a better read. So, please bear with me!

Lothíriel looks to be in a pinch now, but we'll see how it goes, especially with her little trick just before she is captured.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

 **Victoria LeRoux -** I'm glad you liked it! And I hope the story remains exciting!

 **Lykxz** \- I am happy to hear you are enjoying this!

I agree with some of your notions, and have some differing opinions on others. For one, I do agree it doesn't seem like Éomer to be cruel to Lothíriel, or anyone for that matter. Of course, he could act in a way that could be perceived as cruel by another character, but he'd never do it on purpose, and he'd be horrified to learn his actions caused someone to feel like that.

Personally, I've always regarded Rohirric culture as more laidback than Gondor. Their civilization is not on the same level (note: this doesn't mean it makes them better or worse), and so in my view it also impacts their social norms and what they regard as "proper". So, in their society it could be acceptable to drink or to have sexual partners outside marriage (another note: _personally,_ I don't think there's anything wrong with free sex). Obviously, Tolkien doesn't write about this stuff, nor would it make sense in the context of the story. It simply doesn't fit in that narrative. But fanfiction is a great place to explore this side of the world of Middle-earth.

As for Éomer? As a young man, he's the King's nephew and high-ranking military leader. So it makes sense that he would have very good access to nightly amusements, and I think a man of his status wouldn't have hard time finding willing partners. As a result, the Éomer I write usually has experience in that regard. He is described as being a man of passion and strong emotions, and bold to the point of being reckless. I'd think that as a young and less in control of hot-headed impulses he'd have at least some encounters with women. But in the end, I can't see him leading anyone on or treating his partners badly.

Lothíriel, on the other hand - well, again it makes sense that she'd have less experience, considering her background as a prince's daughter. She's actually eight years younger than Éomer, so it's hard to see a scenario where she'd be more knowledgeable. In this story, she does have very different ideas than in my previous stories, but I'm not sure she's had much experience in that regard. For one, she hasn't been active as a Lady of the Hidden Blade for very long. And there are other things that tie in with this, but they have to do with later chapters of this story and I don't want to spoil anything. But we'll get there, eventually!

 **sai19 -** I rather agree! I think we are all much more pleased with the end result when it's better thought out! :)

It's not looking good for her right now, but we'll see how and if she'll get out of this one!

 **Nymphae -** Yes, occasionally it's very refreshing to write Lothíriel as this kind of character! :) And I have always had a weakness for unorthodox plotlines.

 **Nerdanel -** Oh, I see! :D But I'm glad to hear the chapter managed to deliver the expectations!

 **Katia0203 -** We'll see about that! ;) I hope you liked the bit with Imrahil and Éothain. Somehow it was easier for me to write it from Imrahil's POV, probably because I had already been inside his head.

 **EmpressNK -** I wouldn't feel sorry for them, really!

 **EStrunk -** Happy to hear it was so nerve-wrecking! :D But I think it's a very real concern what could happen if Éomer comes to permanent harm during Amrothians' watch. Éothain may be acting patient now, but it's only because he knows how good friends Éomer and Imrahil are, and he and his men could be a nightmare if their king doesn't come back safe and sound.

Interactions between Éomer and Lothíriel remain gradual, but at least he knows now his helper is indeed a she!

 **Doranwen -** Yes, he has a lot of opinions about her! We'll see how feasible her plan is now that she has been caught!

 **Catspector -** It did not, indeed! Imrahil probably still has a bit of difficulty swallowing all that Ivriniel said, but like he notes, she isn't fanciful like that and if she truly believes in Lothíriel so much, maybe he should too.

As for Éomer, he may still not entirely trust Lothíriel, but maybe he does a little more than at the end of the last chapter!

 **Jo -** We'll see! ;)

 **Anon -** It's refreshing to write from this perspective, indeed. And you are very right - too often it seems like female characters only gain strength from horrible losses and suffering. Like, it _can_ be that way, and I admire people who are able to turn their grief into strength. But it shouldn't be the only way a woman can be powerful.

 **Merakia -** Thank you! :)

Glad to hear you're liking the story so far, and that there remains such a balance! Hopefully I can keep that going.

I think the reason Lothíriel comes across as so much more competent than Éomer is because they are so deep into her area of expertise right now. He has his strengths and talents that are unfamiliar to her, but this whole scheming and deceiving is just not his thing at all, so until now there has not been a real way for him to contribute. Éomer is a leader of people, a man who stands in light and is basically all things Ivriniel resents and tells Lothíriel not to be.

Oh, I imagine Aragorn would fare well against Ivriniel - it's just a fun little thing to imagine!

Also if you ever feel like it, don't hesitate to point out my grammar mistakes! I get so blind at stuff like that sometimes, so I'm glad when people notify me.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

It was her own fault, really.

Lothíriel had _known_ she had lingered with the King far too long, making it more and more likely she would be discovered in the cells where she had no business being. But talking with King Éomer had been so nice, because there was something incredibly warm and forthcoming about him even when he sat there studying her every move. She had known he was assessing her, but it had not made her feel insecure or awakened any defensive instincts. Momentarily it almost felt like she could spill any secret to the man and have faith he would still treat her with respect.

And there was the unfortunate fact she had not made sure her hair was properly fixed under the cap... granted, the reveal had given her a precious second to improvise, and maybe, if King Éomer was as good as his reputation, he'd make best of the chance she had given to him.

Now, thanks to her sloppiness, she was being dragged up to the deck and then towards the captain's cabin. Things were not looking good for her, but she hadn't yet run out or tricks. And though there was some apprehension, much of it passed when she took in her surroundings and realised the ship was already sailing upriver; the banks of Anduin were lit by bright moonlight. They were in Gondor!

 _Oh, this is good._

Now, if King Éomer could just get himself out of the cells...

But she couldn't worry about him now, because the door of the cabin was thrown open. The three men dragged her inside unceremoniously, their fingers digging into her arms. That was surely going to leave a nice set of bruises.

Dagalur was leaning over his maps when the company burst inside. He scowled at the disturbance, but was also quick to take note of the long braid that now tumbled down Lothíriel's shoulder.

"What is this supposed to be?" he snapped loudly.

"We've caught a rat, Dagalur. This one had sneaked to see the prisoner and it looks like _he_ has been lying about more than just one thing", Shanum stated victoriously. The way he put emphasis on the word "he" was dripping with sarcasm. They tossed her down on the floor, where she remained, trying to look as meek and helpless as possible. It should make these men feel powerful in contrast... and accordingly arrogant.

 _Arrogant men are surprisingly easy to play,_ Aunt's voice seemed to whisper in her memory.

"I was just trying to -" Lothíriel said in a weak, trembling voice, but once more she was interrupted, this time by a kick against her back. She cried out.

"Silence, _girl",_ Shanum hissed.

Lothíriel complied, bowing her head and fighting against the urge to peek up at Dagalur's face. But if she did, he'd know she was not as terrified as she was trying to act. Why wasn't he saying anything?

"I say we pass her around. Have some fun while we wait for the uproar to die", said one of Shanum's companions. Lothíriel winced and bit her lip. Aunt had told her it could come to this if she was caught. Some men became veritable monsters when they had a helpless woman under their mercy. Aunt Ivriniel had not told her what to expect; she had merely stated this was something no one could prepare for beforehand.

"Of course _you_ would", Dagalur spoke at last, sounding so condescending that Lothíriel felt tiny bit of relief. While the captain was hardly most decent of men, at least his reaction implied he was not _that_ kind of a villain.

He went on, "But perhaps if you were not so steeped in your dimwitted ways, you would stop and wonder how this girl not only successfully joined our crew, but also gave us an escape plan that could actually work, and managed to fool the entire crew this long."

Now she felt a little hopeful. If Dagalur wanted to interrogate her, then maybe she could buy some time – and let King Éomer free himself as she kept the captain busy. Fewer members of the crew would be around now: they were already in Gondor and it would make them feel less on the edge. Most of them would be below the deck, getting some rest after a couple of harrowing days. It was the best chance she and the king of the horselords were going to get.

She only hoped he was not going to ruin it for them both.

Dagalur made a shooing gesture at the three men and spoke, "Get going. I will interrogate her alone."

"Is that wise, captain?" Shanum asked. He did not sound particularly pleased with the decision. But the princess was glad, because already she knew her act did not work as well with this servant of the Black Serpent. It could have been impossible to fool both him and Dagalur at the same time.

"What is a slip of a girl going to do?" Dagalur asked back dismissively. "Now get out."

There was some grumbling, but Shanum and his companions did comply, and soon Lothíriel was left alone with the corsair captain. She remained on the floor, attempting to come across as vulnerable as she was able.

"Now, girl, tell me – why are you here?" Dagalur asked at last.

"I told you the truth. I want to get to Pelargir", she answered and kept her eyes down.

"And why is that?" asked the captain. His tone revealed she would have to work hard to convince him of anything.

"I was trying to get away from my family. They have arranged my betrothal with a horrible old man, who is a drunkard and a wife-beater. So I ran away and dressed as a boy for my own safety. My aunt lives in Pelargir and she has promised to take me in", Lothíriel replied at length. Still she kept her eyes down, but now she felt cool metal beneath her chin, and the sharp tip of a dagger forced her to look up. Dagalur's gaze was critical.

"Why should I believe anything you say?" he wondered out loud and narrowed his eyes.

She met his stare blankly. To be honest, she hadn't expected to persuade him by words.

"I didn't suppose you would", she stated at last in a small voice. "I can only say I lied to protect myself."

She let out a small sob and added, "At least the way your men acted... I don't think I was wrong in the first place."

Dagalur snorted out loud and pulled back the blade from under her chin.

"Well, I can't say you are wrong there", he muttered and toyed with his dagger as he considered her. "And what about the little scheme you offered to us in order to escape Prince Imrahil's fleet?"

"I just wanted to get away from my family – at any cost", she whispered. The longer this went on, the easier it became to conduct her act. But so it often was. Once she got comfortable with the role she was playing at the moment, it also grew less and less difficult to appear convincing. Controlling her voice was the hardest part.

"Even at the cost of horsemaster's life?" Dagalur asked her.

"Y-yes", Lothíriel answered and felt a faint shiver run down her spine. _That_ was not acting anymore.

She breathed deeply and closed her eyes momentarily before continuing, "Better him than me."

The captain lifted one eyebrow. Was now a moment to change her tactics a little? She could try.

"Please. I need you to help me. I will do anything", she said in a choked voice and blinked hard at him, as though to dispel tears. It was soft and pleading – the vulnerable request of a girl who is all alone in the world. She leaned forward just so slightly it could be dismissed as a natural shift in one's posture, though at the same time it caused Dagalur's eyes moving to her neckline.

He brought the dagger closer to her again, but she read no threat in his body's language, and so she held still when the sharp tip pressed against the lowest point of the tunic's neck. He cut down, revealing the topmost layers of the binding around her chest. She looked up at Dagalur with wide eyes, lips parted, and breathed in shallow little gasps. Just the way the lady in the house of red veils had taught her.

The captain's eyes darkened. The dagger dropped from his hand, and then he gripped her shoulders.

She had him now – hook, line and sinker.

* * *

As soon as he was left alone, Éomer began to work on his escape.

Candir – or whatever the girl's name was – had indeed left him a fair chance of doing just that. There was one problem though: he couldn't reach the keys through the bars of the cell. But almost at once he realised he could use his belt to try to get them by throwing the buckle at the keys, getting them to catch, and dragging them to himself. When his fingers closed around the means to his release, he hissed in accomplishment. Finally, something was going his way.

He unlocked the door of the cell and stepped out with a breath of relief. Of course, this did not mean he was out of danger yet, but it felt good to be free again and have a measure of control over his situation. He swept the small knife Candir had left for his use: a light but well-balanced thing. It was a suitable weapon for a crafty little spy.

Once outside the cell, he pondered how to proceed. Should he try and get straight to the captain's cabin? At least, he assumed that was where the three men had taken Candir. Béma knew what they were doing to her now – they could be torturing her to get answers, or even some worse atrocities. So Éomer made up his mind: it was now _his_ turn to help _her,_ and he needed to do it as quickly as he could.

But could he get there? He guessed it was night already, and so perhaps fewer members of the crew would be around. Yet he had no idea of how many enemies stood between him and Candir. If he just barged out recklessly, one of them might raise the alarm.

He could not wait. Candir relied on him to help her and he could not waste time, standing about. So he took a deep breath, adjusted the knife in his hand so that he could strike quickly and efficiently in case foes appeared, and pushed the door open as quietly as he was able.

It was dark in the narrow corridor and quiet, too. The only sounds were the small creaks and cracks of the ship and the waters lapping against the hull. He supposed it was a good sign. At least the captain had not yet decided to throw Candir at his crew for them to do with as they pleased. With a shudder of disgust he imagined such an event would have caused some kind of an uproar.

Éomer felt the same as just before launching an attack: he was on the edge, each sensation was heightened, and he was highly aware each second could be the one he'd burst into action. Having to sneak around like this did not feel right, though. He preferred to meet the enemy face first. However, much depended on his stealth now. Éomer smiled grimly to himself when he thought of Éothain and what the man would advise him to do. The captain would briskly tell him he could not waste time in heroics right now, but make every effort he possibly could to get off of this ship alive and unhurt.

Even if it meant deploying tactics he'd rather not use.

At last he reached the narrow stairs leading up to the deck. It was night indeed, and the moon shone so brightly that a shadow of one night guard standing there was cast down where Éomer now was. For a second he hesitated. Would the stairs creak under his weight, and could he make it up fast enough? Could he surprise the guard before he was exposed?

Well, there was nothing to it. He had to try.

Éomer leaped up three stairs at a time, knife at the ready, and reached for the guard as he turned. His free hand covered the man's mouth and thus muffled the cry before it got out. Meanwhile, the blade cut into the pirate's exposed neck and ended his life in one quick slash.

The Rohir caught the man's body as it fell, easing it on the deck silently. He laid the body in a sitting position. He noted the man was one of the three who had dragged Candir to the captain. A quick glance around confirmed others were not nearby - maybe they were with the captain, or had gone under the deck to do whatever corsairs did at this time of night. At least he hoped they would not be returning soon, or notice the unfortunate end of their comrade. Until someone came to inspect the matter more closely, the dead man might pass as a sleeping one. And Éomer had a feeling they needed those extra minutes right now.

Thankfully, there were no one else on the deck at the time. _Finally some luck._

Quickly he made his way to the captain's cabin; however unpleasant their conversation had been, at least he knew where to find the man. Luck remained with him, as he met no one else on the way. He guessed the entirety of crew must be resting – except for the poor devil he had just slain. But even so, he was not going to take any chances here.

In the minutes before Éomer opened the door of the captain's cabin, he wondered what he would find there. What if the pirate leader was torturing Candir right now? Or inflicting another kind of violence on her? The mere thought made his blood boil. On the other hand, Candir had shown she had skill in deception. Maybe she had found a way to stall the man…

Whatever he expected, it was not what greeted him when he slipped inside. Candir had the captain on the flat of his back in the cot and she was straddling his hips. And she was kissing the man in a way that did not look at all like she was being forced to do it.

Éomer stopped on his tracks and blinked. But Candir let out a groan and she made a light punch at the captain's throat, leaving the man to gasp for breath while she got up in a swift motion.

"Finally! I was starting to think you had got yourself caught again", she said crisply as she wiped her mouth and brushed back her hair, which was now flowing open down her shoulders.

"What… are you doing?" he asked at length and glanced at the gasping man.

"Keeping him distracted, of course. I had to improvise", said the girl dismissively. "Come, let's get going. We need to get off of this ship."

She made a movement towards the door, but Éomer did not follow.

"Perhaps we could take the captain along as a hostage, at least until we get to the land?" he suggested warily. He'd rather have some kind of a bargaining chip in case they were cornered again.

"We don't have the time", said Candir anxiously.

"How else are you going to make sure we get to land safe and undisturbed?" he pointed out. "Or are you just going to row us across the high seas?"

"We aren't even close to high seas! Uinen is with us, you oaf – we are already sailing up Anduin. We can make it to the land quite easily, provided we don't just wait here like sitting ducks", she answered with a hint of temper.

"Well, excuse me for not observing that event from my cell", Éomer said wryly. "But I still think we should get the captain just to be sure."

"Oh, all right then", she muttered, and he thought she was quite the overbearing little thing for one so young. Did she get like this with Imrahil, too?

He grunted, refraining from commenting on how disturbing it was to have such a slip of a girl supervising his safety. Now was not a time for smart comments – nor interrogating her, though there were a fair number of questions he would have liked to make.

They found a bit of rope and she stuffed some piece of garment she had found in his mouth to keep him quiet, while Éomer watched over and kept his borrowed blade close to the man's neck. His scheming little companion worked quickly and efficiently, and soon the pirate's hands were tied together behind his back. His feet they kept free, as they needed him to walk. Éomer returned the knife to Candir and took possession of the captain's own sword – a curved blade with richly jewelled pommel. It was not his style at all, but it was best these circumstances offered. He didn't particularly like having to rely on another man's weapon, but neither did he fancy meeting a bunch of angry pirates armed with nothing but a small knife. And who knew what else would come their way, even if they were able to get to land? It was clear they were still a long way from safety.

"I'll go ahead and clear the way. You get him to the deck", she said as soon as she was ready. Éomer frowned; it was years since he had been ordered around like this. But considering she seemed to know what she was doing, and this was apparently a far more familiar environment to her than it was to him, he followed her lead.

So they continued. The woman lead the way and swiftly cut the throat of one corsair they met on the way, and Éomer, following and threatening the captain with the newly acquired sword, thought to himself that this lass was not merely a spy. His heart raced in his chest, and each second he expected someone to sound the alarm. However, whether it was by sheer chance or by the guidance of some benevolent Power watching over them, they reached the deck. Thankfully, no one had yet noticed the body of the man he had slain while trying to get to the cabin. Candir only threw a passing glance at the slain pirate. There was something a little chilling to her calm indifference.

She also got them a boat while Éomer steered their prisoner, his hand gripping the man by the back of his neck and the blade against his back. One sharp thrust would be enough to end his life.

Gazing over the railing he saw the vixen had been right: they were now sailing upriver and the banks of Anduin were at rowing distance. In his previous concern to get to her, he had not paid attention to this fact. If they made haste, they could get to land well before the night ended. He also noted the ship had indeed taken some serious damage. He was no sailor but he wondered if the vessel even was seaworthy anymore.

She started to lower the boat in swift, sure movements. Éomer frowned to himself; was there anything she _couldn't_ do? Then again, if she was what he suspected, it was no wonder she had an impressive set of skills. And wasn't Amrothos fond of telling him how everyone from Dol Amroth was practically born with the gift of handling boats? Eventually he decided he would sleep his nights better if he did not know the extent of this maiden's abilities.

While Éomer stood and kept watch, both over their hostage and the deck to make sure they wouldn't be taken by surprise, he spoke to her again.

"May I know your name, lass? Your real name, that is, for it's clearly not Candir. I would like to know whom I owe my gratitude", he said, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.

"Don't thank me yet. There are still plenty of ways this can go wrong", she answered, and the captain made a muffled sound as though he fiercely hoped just that. The Rohir slapped the side of his head and the man stumbled, falling quiet again.

"In that case, I'd like to know the name of the person I'm going to die with", Éomer said dryly, at which she snorted in laughter.

He saw her glancing at him and their prisoner, and then to his surprise, she spoke in Rohirric. Granted, her choice of words was unusual and her accent wasn't pretty, but she managed to convey her message.

"I am sister to the three men you were visiting", she told him, and though he supposed at this point, he shouldn't be surprised at anything she said or did, Éomer was still astonished.

"Daughter of -" he nearly spluttered out her secret, but she hissed in warning. Obviously she didn't want their prisoner learning anything about her identity. And rightly so – he guessed that to these pirates, being able to catch a member of Imrahil's family would be a dream come true.

"Yes, yes. I'm his daughter", she announced with some annoyance and continued to lower the boat. Éomer shook his head. If the Princess Lothíriel went on releasing captured kings and stabbing corsairs, it was no wonder she had no time to appear in court or participate feasts.

"I don't suppose that's yet another trick?" he asked her doubtfully.

"I'm afraid not, Sire. But this is not the time or place to prove it, and truly it's not relevant as long as I can get you to safety. You are welcome to interrogate my father about it when you see him again, though. He should be glad to do anything you ask after this mess", she said impatiently. For whatever reason, her answer did actually convince him. Not to mention, ever since the moment she had leaped up from the corsair captain, Éomer had perceived almost a brutal air of honesty about the strange young woman. Was this now the real version of her?

"So he knows you have these... hobbies?" he asked at length.

"Of course he does. But that's a story for another time", said his companion, and at last the boat fell down. It splashed mightily when it came into contact with water, but remained afloat.

"We must hurry. Someone will have heard that. I do not know how much more we have time", she said, and he knew her words were truly spoken.

With some effort, they were able to lower their hostage in the boat, though not before he had quickly bound his feet. They didn't need him rocking the boat into capsizing. Éomer climbed down by a rope somewhat clumsily, but Princess Lothíriel followed suit as swift and agile as an elf.

She looked like she would have grabbed the oars, but Éomer prevented that.

"Let me row. I imagine I'm stronger than you, my lady, and I have barely got to use my strength tonight", he said firmly, still speaking in Rohirric, and surprisingly she agreed. He had rather expected she would object, what with the way she had been ordering him around since the moment he had burst into the captain's cabin.

So Éomer began to row while she sat guard and kept an eye on their hostage and on the ship they were now fleeing from.

"Care to tell me how the lady of your standing came to be captured by corsairs?" he wanted to know at first. There was still some way to row and the current created some resistance, which provided time to ask a few questions. He continued to use his own language, though, as their hostage didn't need to be partial to this conversation.

"Because it's what I do. If my brothers are the swords of Dol Amroth, then I am the hidden blade. Just like my aunt before me", she answered, not meeting his gaze.

"What does that mean?" Éomer asked with a frown. Somehow the thing that surprised him least about this whole thing was that Lady Ivriniel was some kind of a spy and assassin, too. He had not forgotten the cold force of her eyes when they had met.

He received a brief account on how she had been watching the pirates, and seen him brought in. Then she explained how she had decided to follow them, and upon realising that he was going to be taken into the ship, she had surrendered herself into their hands. But like Éomer himself had at first, they had taken her for a boy.

"It's one of my disguises. If you thought of me as a boy, it's because I wanted you to", she said nonchalantly.

"And what about the captain? Why wasn't he trying to make you tell everything?" he inquired her and shot a quick look at the pirate lying on the bottom of their boat.

"Well, I spun this tale about trying to escape my family, and insinuated I was ready to do anything if he would help me. He thought I was going to perform some very unladylike acts on him, which made it remarkably easy to keep him occupied while you freed yourself", she explained and flashed a victorious little grin.

The young king could only shake his head. Truly, this woman was extraordinary! But he could still not understand how a lady of her status could be doing something so dangerous.

"Tell me, how does a Gondorian lady become a spy and an assassin?" he asked her.

"That's a long story. I'll tell you some time", she told him firmly. Éomer frowned again and was silent for a while as he kept rowing. The princess peered into the night, while he was thinking about all that had happened until now.

"I see movement on the ship. Lamps and men running. Either they have found one of the bodies, or noticed their captain is missing", she said suddenly.

"Then we must hurry", said the Rohir in low tones and he began to row faster. It was not a long way to the bank of the river now, but the current was stronger here; he adjusted his pulls to keep the brow of their little boat from sliding downriver.

Éomer glanced at the corsair lying on the bottom of the vessel. The man stared back with huge, furious eyes.

"What about our prisoner?" he inquired the lass. Perhaps, if they let the man go, he'd decide enough was enough and let him and the princess go their merry way. On the other hand, the look in the captain's eyes did not promise good.

"I say we dump him in the river. We can't drag him along once we reach the land, and if we leave him in the water, his men will have to tend to him. It will buy us some time", she said, casting a grim look at the captain.

"He could die", said the young king quietly and looked up at the Princess, who sat opposite him. He was surprised at how cold her eyes seemed.

"Yes, he could. But that is no more than what he and his ilk have given to the innocents of my land. And he would have sold you to the highest bidder if I had not interfered", she said. Then, before Éomer could say anything more, she rolled him over the board. It swayed the boat but their vessel stayed upright.

"Princess! He might drown", Éomer felt obliged to point out.

"Or he might not. Pirates usually are very good swimmers and in any case, it's no less than he deserves", Princess Lothíriel said firmly.

Éomer still did not feel pleased. While he fully understood what she had said, that these pirates wouldn't have hesitated to sell him like a fine piece of meat, he still didn't feel right with just pushing the man into the river. When Éomer fought and killed, especially when battling another Man, he preferred to do it when both he and his opponent had equal chances. But on the other hand, it was becoming more and more clear that this princess had been trained to slay in an entirely different manner.

"I don't think you should have done that. They might have taken the plan you gave them and leave us be. But if he dies, they may want to get revenge for their leader", Éomer said gravely.

But the princess shrugged.

"Why would they? They're corsairs, they don't have that kind of loyalty between themselves", she said dismissively.

"Are you sure about that?" Éomer asked evenly. "Orcs have no loyalty. They would sell their comrades in a heartbeat if there was something in it for them. But Men who have fought and bled together usually have some kind of a code. You didn't just betray these pirates: you also lead them deep into enemy territory, stole their only bargaining chip from them, and now you have left their captain to drown. They have plenty of reason to hate you."

Moonlight was bright enough for him to see the way she was frowning. Perhaps his words had got through to her? But then she shook her head and the frown vanished from her features.

"Well, what is done is done. Unless you want to row down after him, and so waste our chance of getting away… I understand if you don't feel good about it, but that man would not have hesitated to kill you, if you had been in bonds. I need to get you somewhere safe, Sire, and I will not let anything compromise that", she said gravely and glanced downriver. Éomer did not look.

He knew what he needed to do. He could almost hear Éothain's voice, demanding him to stay alive and get somewhere safe. Was one man's life worth more than the future of Rohan? Especially when that one man was a pirate and a villain? He knew what his council would tell him. And so, though his heart was uneasy, he kept rowing.

In less than two minutes they reached the riverbank and the King and the Princess climbed hastily out of their boat. They did not bother dragging it ashore, but let the current take a hold of the little vessel. Glancing back at the ship, which rocked slightly askew on the waves, he could see dark shapes in the distance.

"Do you have any idea of where we are?" he asked her.

"I think we are still in Lebennin. We have a good chance of making our escape. And there's a fair chance the corsairs will give up as soon as they realise we have vanished. They know they can still make it back to Umbar, if they are careful", she said, gazing ahead to where a low shrubbery began and eventually turned into a fragrant wood.

"Then what do you suggest? I have no knowledge of these lands, and so I cannot say where we should head", Éomer said. He felt a little anxious, for he knew this very moment boats were readied and soon enough the corsairs would flood this shore.

"I say we head for Pelargir. My father's ships will be looking far and wide for you, and one of them is bound to dock there sooner or later. Moreover, my aunt has a safe house in Pelargir. We can take cover there. The city is large and good for hiding", Princess Lothíriel said after considering it for a moment. She made the proposition quickly enough and he knew she was used to thinking on her feet.

Perhaps she was not a warrior in the sense he understood the word. But by now, Éomer had realised that this was a woman one wanted to have around in a pinch. She was quick, she was brave, and obviously she was quite resourceful. There was much yet he wanted to learn about her, but as of now there was no time. They had to make their escape.

"The lead the way", Éomer said to her, knowing enough to brace himself for a long, arduous flight.

She flashed him a smile in the light of the moon.

"Let's get going."

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** And here's an update! I hope you enjoyed it. :)

This was a bit difficult chapter to revise, but it was also fun finally getting Éomer out of his cell and starting to show his captors what is what. It seemed to me he wouldn't be entirely undisturbed, though. All this sneaking around and stabbing people in the dark is pretty far from his comfort zone, though I assume he had his share of that during Wormtongue's reign. But maybe that's why he resents it so much. Even so, he does recognise this is necessary for him to survive.

It was also fascinating to portray Lothíriel from his perspective and show how she would appear to someone else. He admires her bravery, surely, but he is also noticing some things about her that may not be so attractive. More on that later, though!

In case you wonder why she reveals her identity to him so easily, that is also something I mean to elaborate soon.

Thank you for reading and reviewing! If you got time, let me know what you think!

* * *

 **Lykz -** No problem! Thank _you_ for your interesting comments! I love it when my readers go in depth to their thoughts like you did. :)

I agree with you that in a lot of fanfiction, characters do seem to be OOC and they do things that aren't believable. I personally resent stories that paint Éomer as a bad guy because that is so, _so_ far from who he is. But I'm also often concerned about my own writing and if I've managed to keep the characters true to the original.

It's fun to write Lothíriel having bit of a rebellious spirit in her, though. I think there's plenty of that in her in this version, but like I said before, she hasn't been active that long and she's still very young. So I'd say she hasn't really got to her full potential yet. Anyway, I do hope you continue to like her. Like I said in my A/N, Éomer is maybe noticing some not so attractive things about her in this chapter, but that's because I'm trying to make her well-rounded character!

 **Merakia -** I'm glad you liked it! :)

Also happy to hear the pacing was good - I was a bit worried about that. And it was fun to be inside her head!

The Ladies of the Hidden Blade aren't actually called spiders. It's just Lothíriel's own little thing - a private joke, if you will. It's about how all these great warriors and Houses have these beautiful and noble animals in their emblems, but she's so different from them and her methods are wildly unusual in comparison, so she's figured out that if she'd have a banner, it would have to be a spider!

 **Katia0203 -** Glad to deliver! :D Oh, she has a few tricks left indeed, and Éomer is not entirely helpless either!

 **Jo -** I hope this answered a few of them at least!

 **EStrunk -** I wouldn't say it was a grand plan of hers, but she managed to make something decent out of it. And Éomer does quite a bit with the keys and the blade! :D

 **Wondereye -** Thank you!

 **Anon -** The suggestion to do just that is on the table, but while Dagalur isn't my most developed OC, he never stroke me as that kind of a villain.

 **Nerdanel -** That she is! :D But yeah, it's a better story if things happen more because people's active decisions rather than sheer happenstance. I admit this story had too much dumb luck going on before I decided to revise it, and I believe it does run smoother now than before.

 **sai19 -** It was a tight spot, but they have managed to manoeuvre their way out if it! But we'll see how things go for them now.

It really just is a better read and I'm more satisfied with the end product when I see more effort. Sure, it may take more time, but at least it doesn't bother me after so much! :D

 **Doranwen -** Yes, it was good to have him taking an active part in things, too! I hope you enjoyed their conversations in this chapter. :) It was actually very fun to write!

 **alia00 -** I'm glad you like the story! :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

From that nameless bank of Anduin they ran. Night grew late and sun's first rays flickered in the east, but the two hastened along the stream, knowing that the more they could put distance between themselves and the pirates, the better. There was a wood where trees grew low and loose, not at all like the forests in the North. They followed Anduin but saw no dwellings of Men on their way, even though the land was fair and its weathers mild. In a breathless voice, the Princess said it was because too long Anduin's shores had been the hunting grounds for the corsairs, and people of Lebennin did not wish to give them an easy target.

While they ran, sun rose in the east, blazing glorious. The woods in Lebennin were beautiful and fragrant, but Éomer kept his eyes forward. He knew it was a long way still to Pelargir, over a day and half on foot, but at least they were on friendly soil. Princess Lothíriel had said they might find transport on water eventually, for boats of all sizes travelled the waters near the city. How she meant they would pay for such passage, she hadn't told him yet. Maybe she was planning to blackmail her way through it. At this point, he was ready to expect just about anything.

He had saved his strength, the way he had learned to do as a Rider. Now that he was without a mount, it came to a need as they ran by the side of the river. At times, they had to curve their going a little away, for here and there were spots of quicksand. The Princess kept a close eye on the terrain.

She endured well, though at times he could see her falling a little behind. From that and the expression on her face, he knew she was struggling to keep up with him.

And so, knowing rest would suit him well too, Éomer slowed down.

"I think maybe we should stop and get some rest. We have raced for many hours", he suggested.

"Are you sure it's a good idea? What if those pirates are on our heels?" she asked doubtfully.

He had thought about that, too.

"They will not have made such way as we. It will have taken them time to find and rescue their captain, and to decide what to do. And it should slow them down while they seek for our tracks. I think we can take an hour or two of rest without any fear", Éomer said calmly.

"Very well", she said at length, and he could tell she was now too exhausted to make an argument, even if she had been against his view.

So they looked for a place to lay down and sleep, beneath the trees and some way from the river so that they would not be spotted right away. There they found a place where grass grew and herbs and flowers of the wood smelled sweet. Princess Lothíriel more or less just threw herself down and was asleep in less than minutes.

Éomer lay down as well, placing himself between her and the river. Strange were the fates that had brought them here, but as of now, he felt like he was tremendously lucky to have her for a companion.

* * *

They rose again at midday and ate what food they could quickly find in the woods. There were nuts and berries, and some root vegetables that she recognised. It wasn't much of a meal, but it helped with hungry pangs that would otherwise have made their efforts quite painful.

They continued again their flight towards Pelargir, following the stream. No sight of their pursuers could be seen yet, and Éomer guessed their advance had not been as swift or untroubled. No doubt the facts he had pointed out to her had slowed the corsairs down. Who knew? Perhaps he had been wrong about loyalty between pirates and they would not try to pursue the Princess and him. Even so, Éomer decided it would be wise not to leave anything to such a narrow chance.

The two of them kept up again a good pace, though it was not quite as vigorous as yesterday. Lack of proper food and rest now grew on them, even if they were still anxious to get closer to the city of Pelargir. Éomer was not sure what the Princess meant when she said "safe house" and "many hiding places", but right now he knew those were things he needed to trust. After all, she had not yet given him any reason to doubt her.

Their travelling was swift and urgent and as the heat of the day grew, they halted to undo their coats. When they stopped to rest a little, Éomer asked her, "Is this something you often do?"

"No, it isn't. This is the first time I help a king to escape", she replied, washing her face in the river. This flight was taking its toll on her as well, which in fact made him trust her a little more than earlier. If she were dishonest, she wouldn't struggle so much to help him.

"Then what do you normally do?" he wanted to know.

She looked into the river and her expression was odd.

"I do whatever Dol Amroth needs me to do", she stated at length, her tone strangely grave.

"Is saving me what Dol Amroth needs?" Éomer asked in the spur of the moment. Not that the answer wasn't clear to him, but he wanted to know what _she_ thought.

"It is what everyone needs. You are the last of your line, my lord, and Gondor can't afford you dying because of us. My father would be put in a very hard place if you perished under our watch. I know what you have done for my land, and the moment I saw you were in danger, I had to act", she said very solemnly.

"Éomer", he said, making her look up quizzically.

"My lord?" she asked him.

"That's my name. You have quite earned the right to speak it", he told her steadily. For a second she looked at him in surprise, but then a smile appeared on her features. When she smiled, he had hard time believing he had ever thought she was a boy. And there was something else to it, too. Back at the ship, she had shown cold determination and acted ruthlessly against the corsairs. But now, when she gave him this genuine smile, he could see something in her gaze that made him wonder if that ruthlessness was actually a native part of her.

"And you are free to use mine", said the Princess softly. For whatever reason it occurred only now to him that there was much more to her than just her sly, scheming side.

With a comradely look at one another, they returned to their flight.

They made way in good enough pace, considering the circumstances. Éomer thought to himself that Lothíriel moved as though a young deer, swift and light upon the grass. She had braided her hair and ran without her tunic, and to himself he thought she looked as though she was a young Wood-elf, much like one of her ancestress' kin. How could he ever have bought that display she had given back at the ship? Then again, he had a feeling she had the ability of making people think what she wanted. He would be wise to remember that.

At times, they ran a little slower, and then conversations would take place. Lothíriel took the opportunity to tell l him the reason why would a Princess of Dol Amroth be tailing pirates and helping foreign kings to escape. It was a long, strange tale, and it went beyond everything he had thought he knew of the ladies of Gondor. And after last night, Éomer had to admit he was a little intimidated to know Imrahil had such weapon in his sleeve.

"A long time ago, there was a Southron lord visiting in Dol Amroth. It was in a time of truce, though my ancestor who ruled as a prince at the time had heard whispers that the armies of the south were stirring again, and would soon be marching north. He wanted to learn what this lord knew, but he had no way of finding out. In all their talks, the Southron evaded all the questions that even slightly pointed towards any plans of war. But then his sister suggested maybe _she_ could discover the information he needed", said Lothíriel as they jogged along the river. Éomer was listening closely, as this was something quite unfamiliar to him.

"He resisted at first, thinking it was too dangerous. But she reminded him that to they had no higher duties than to protect their people and Gondor, and if there was a chance she could find something out, then she wanted to try. She pointed out to him that the Southron would never consider her a threat, or think she could seriously harm him. That was her advantage", she continued, gazing ahead. Éomer thought this ancestress had been very much correct. Even in the realms of Middle-earth, there were many who would never realise her potential, and her danger. That was precisely where her power came from.

"The prince agreed at last and so she arranged a feast in the honour of the Southron lord. She was skilled in diplomatics – and also knew a fair deal about seduction. Eventually, the lord was so drunk, both on wine and on _her,_ that he told her everything she wanted to know", Lothíriel stated, sounding almost victorious, as though she had played a part in this achievement.

"With her help, the Swan Knights lead by the Prince were able to gain a great victory and protect the realm against their invasion. They were so pleased with the result that they began to wonder if they could use this strategy again, harness her charms and their enemies' prejudices and utilise them to defend the land. So the idea was born, though since then, it has changed and grown, and it's not merely charms or prejudices that we make use of when fighting our shadow wars. In time, her child followed in her steps, and the blade was passed on from one to another, mothers to daughters, aunts to nieces, cousins and sisters and so on – all the way to this day. I'm only the latest link in a long chain of secret blades that the Prince of Dol Amroth applies whenever he can't send his Swan Knights to do the job", said the Lady Lothíriel, holding her audience much bewitched to the end of it. As they ran, her voice came sometimes slower and sometimes faster, depending on the terrain they were covering at the time. But Éomer listened closely to every word and felt like glimpsing an entirely new world that had always existed along with the one he knew.

"It is astonishing. I never knew – never would have imagined there was something like you in these southern lands", Éomer said at last, when he had pondered on all this for a while. Had even Wormtongue in all his cunning dreamed of having such an asset? How strange these Men of Stoningland could be! And yet he saw the sense in all this. Hadn't he himself witnessed how easily she could go into places that were closed to others? The way she had made people believe that she was a lad? She wore her disguises like a second skin and no one knew better.

"Well, none before you know of this. It's been a secret we have kept for a long time", she answered as the halted again to drink some water. With solemn eyes, she looked up at him, "You are the first outsider to hear all this – at least in my time. My aunt won't be glad when I tell her you know. Can you promise to keep our secret?"

"Of course", said Éomer calmly. "You saved my life. If you wish me to keep your secret, then that is a very small thing to do in return."

Lothíriel smiled, and for a moment the young king wondered if she was at all aware of how fair that expression made her.

"I would be very grateful", she said, and without a further word, they continued their run.

* * *

They kept up a good pace until evening, but at that time they had both grown weary and eager for some rest. As there was no sign yet of any potential pursuers, they decided to sleep under the stars.

They did not build a fire, for it would have announced their presence for miles and miles, and a warm summer's night kept them warm enough. So they lay down upon grass that grew more abundantly here, along with sweet-smelling river flowers. These were some of the fairest sites along the river Anduin, yet they had been long neglected due to corsair threat. Once, in a time where Gondor had been great and powerful, these shores had been better protected.

She spoke of these things, and of many others, to the man who lay next to her, gazing up to the stars above them. The sky of summer's night was clear and bright and some of her favourite constellations were well in sight. It was a little odd to realise that she could sleep so easily and safely while so close to a man who was still unfamiliar to her. Yet Lothíriel already knew King Éomer would never cross the line, even if he hadn't known her parentage.

Exposing her true name and identity had been moderately easy, and he had taken the news astonishingly well. Lothíriel had figured out they would be stuck together for many days to come and so it would be next to impossible to keep the truth from him. Aunt had told her about Rohirrim and their love of honesty, and lying straight to his face now that pretension was not necessary anymore was a sure way to lose his trust. There was a good chance the King would go berserk if he felt cheated by her, and that was the last thing she needed at the moment. Not to mention, she had the interests of her House to consider. It was her brothers, Princes of Dol Amroth, who had got him in the trouble, and so it had to be another member of that same family to get him out of it. Had she kept her original story with him and vanished when he was safe once more, he might still feel ambivalent towards her kin in the end. But hopefully this way, the good relationship between Dol Amroth and Rohan could be salvaged. Right now she didn't need to be a spider; it was enough to simply be the Princess of Dol Amroth.

Curiously, but careful to remain polite, he asked her many questions about her life, of her training, and of the things she had seen and done. And as she spoke, Lothíriel grew more and more bold in her tales of the years she had spent learning her trade and of the ways she had put it all to use. She could well understand his wonder, and was herself a little surprised how well he took this all. Not once had she heard any judgement in his tone, and whatever he thought of her and her way of life, at least did not disapprove of it straight to her face. She took this to mean that Éomer did not think her being a Lady of the Hidden Blade as a bad thing; enough had been said about his straightforward character for her to know he wouldn't have hidden his opinion if it was not in her favour.

She was glad that he kept asking questions and thus distracted her from some troubling thoughts that had pursued her ever since they had got to land. Aunt Ivriniel had always told her not to feel regret over dead enemies, but Éomer's conflicted feelings over pushing Dagalur into the river had rather disturbed her peace of mind. She knew the Rohir was famous for his decency and honourable disposition, but why was it making her second-guess her own actions?

"I was wondering", he said all of a sudden, "Is this what you do all of your life? Don't you ever settle down?"

"Settle down? As in, starting a family?" Lothíriel asked, frowning slightly.

"Well, I suppose in that way, too", he said and she could feel his eyes on her.

"Not many of us do. I don't think Aunt ever mentioned more than a few of our predecessors who left this life. She certainly never even considered the idea. In fact, I think it would be abhorrent to her", Lothíriel said. Truly enough, she couldn't imagine her aunt married to anyone, or having children. To her, Lady Ivriniel had always seemed so aloof and singular, and content in being so. She didn't seem like she wanted or needed affection and closeness, even from her kin.

"That sounds lonely", Éomer mused at length, making her glance at him.

"I suppose it is", she had to agree. "But my aunt... she doesn't see it that way. She... well, Father thinks she got to it too early. And her predecessor, my grandfather's cousin, was well nigh obsessed with... with what we do. She passed a lot of herself, her visions, to my aunt. You could say she never learned to regard it in any other point of view than her own. And before she got injured and had to quit, Aunt loved what she did and she was good at it. But it also made her ruthless, suspicious if not hateful towards most men, and sometimes she's so cold people call her the Ice Princess."

"... are you like that? Or do you want to become like her?" he asked her. She saw him shifting, and he moved to lay on his side, leaning his head against his hand as he considered her.

Lothíriel let out a nervous little laugh.

"Elbereth, I hope I'm not. I think I would be miserable if I tried to be like my aunt", she said, shuddering at the thought. She glanced at the man by her side. "Don't get me wrong. I respect her very much, but I'm also different than she is."

"Then what do _you_ want from your life?" the horselord inquired.

It rather took her by surprise. What could she answer when she had no response? Silently she stared at the stars for a while, as though they knew better. Indeed, what kind of a life could a spider hope to have?

"I haven't really thought about it", she said at last, her voice falling close to a whisper. "At least as far as family goes, I don't think I can hope to find anyone who would want to live their life with me. Most Gondorian lords would probably think I'm far too independent. And I doubt they would appreciate knowing I have means to beat them, if I wanted to."

"If you ask me, being independent is not a bad thing. Many women I know in my land are, and they have to be. They manage halls and farms when men are away – and sometimes defend them, too", he said and rolled to lay on his back again. It was dark and so she couldn't check, but she thought he was smiling wryly when he added, "Some of them are quite formidable opponents when armed with a blade, as a matter of fact."

Lothíriel looked at him in wonder. Granted, Aunt had taught her some of the culture of the horselords, but her companion spoke of it so casually. Perhaps this was the reason he had accepted her actions easily so far; even when she had revealed her identity, his shock had not lasted for long. It was strange, really, because she felt like for the first time in her life, she was received both as a woman and a... well, not a warrior, but as some kind of a comrade in arms. Only a handful of people knew her both sides, and often she felt like none of them really knew how to combine the two. At least in the eyes of her brothers, she had ceased to exist as a female altogether.

"I would like to visit Rohan one day", she said after a while, shifting her eyes to gaze at the stars. They were bright tonight and she sought for some of her favourite constellations. Long ago, even before she had suspected her aunt was involved in something very peculiar, her grandfather had taught her some of the lore of stars. Since then, she had learned: _there is light and high beauty for ever beyond the shadow._

"You are most welcome to do so. After what you have done for me, you would be received as an honoured guest", the horselord said in a softer tone than before.

"I was just doing what I have been trained to do", she tried to dismiss it.

"Yet you saved my life", Éomer said solemnly. "Not many can say that they have."

"I couldn't just leave you there, could I?" Lothíriel said weakly. When had she grown so very aware of him lying so close to her? And why was she thinking of how easy it would be to reach out to him and lose herself in his warmth? She cleared her throat and wrapped her arms tightly around herself. In a low voice, she said, "We should try to get some rest."

"Aye, we should", he agreed quietly and let out a small sigh.

But though her body surely could have used the rest, it was some time before Lothíriel actually fell asleep.

* * *

They started again before the dawn. Again they went following the stream, their eyes straining for horizon and the first glimpse of Pelargir, even if they knew the earliest they could hope to reach the city was by nightfall.

"Although", said Lothiriel when they jogged through the soft tall grass covering the riverbanks, "there are always little boats on the waters near Pelargir. Like I said before, we could try and bargain ourselves a passage by one of them. At least it would throw those pirates off of our scent."

"A most pleasing idea", Éomer said, but with some doubt. "How probably do you think anyone will agree to ship us if we can't give anything in turn? I was robbed clean when they captured me."

He was just glad he hadn't been carrying anything of personal value on him. He had his father's ring and a brooch that had also come from Éomund, but thankfully he had left those at Imrahil's palace; he had not wanted to present the pickpockets of Dol Amroth an easy, drunken target. Having so little left of his family, it would have been a shame to lose the objects he had inherited from them.

"Not to worry. I do have something to bargain with – right here", she grinned and made a strange little move in the middle of moving forward. She slapped her ankle and halted to drink from the river.

Éomer stared at her dubiously and almost ran into a bush. Was she implying what he thought she did? She exposed one shapely ankle and reached it towards him.

"We'll give them your... ankle?" he asked cautiously, not wanting to offend her. Surely she didn't mean...? At this point, he had absolutely no idea of what she would or wouldn't do.

"Not the ankle, silly! I mean this!" she scoffed and sat down on the ground. At last, he understood her meaning when she unfastened a light silver chain from around her ankle. The Princess grinned, "I always keep a small chain around my ankle. It's one place robbers never check, and you never know when some silver could save your life."

"You are full of surprises", Éomer said, amazed and, he had to admit, a little impressed. "You think of everything, don't you?"

"Well, I try to", she answered with a pleased little smile on her face. For a while, they went on in companionable silence.

On their way, they gleaned the woods of whatever small things they could find to eat. But there wasn't much and in any case their time was limited, so Éomer still felt ravenous afterwards. He reminded himself they were not far from Pelargir now. Once they reached the city, they would be able to rest properly and get a decent meal. At least, he hoped that was what Lothíriel meant when she spoke of her safe house.

As the morning progressed to a full day, he decided to ask her about it.

"My aunt has this little apartment she rents in Pelargir. It's small and discreet and the owner, a tavern keeper who has his establishment below, keeps it tidy for her. We don't use it very often, but apparently Aunt pays him enough to keep him happy", she explained. Then she made a face and added, "though truth be told, I rather believe she also did something to scare him into submission, and he's too terrified of her to say no. It sounds like something she would do."

He snorted upon hearing that. He wasn't sure which he wanted more: to meet this legendary woman or stay as far away from her as possible.

"Have you been there before? At this safe house, I mean?" Éomer inquired at length.

"Yes, a few years ago. Aunt was training me to get information and so we came to Pelargir", Lothíriel said, gazing ahead. "You see, it's not a port like Dol Amroth. It used to be wealthy and powerful once upon a time, but corsairs have ever been fond of assaulting it from the sea, and the Stewards were usually too busy dealing with the threat of Mordor to pay attention. Most of the decent folks have fled over the years. So as a result, Pelargir has become a little untidy."

She let out a small, wry laughter before going on, "Even so, it's a wonderful place to get information, or a passage if you hope to reach the southern lands. You'll meet many delightful characters who can tell you much about what is going on in the markets of Umbar, or latest news from Dale – even a few Rohirrim have been known to wander there. It was very useful for my training. Aunt had me roaming the streets long enough for me to learn to know my way around."

Éomer was a little doubtful.

"It sounds like a place where we will have to watch our back", he stated at length.

"Oh, it's not so bad when you know which parts you should avoid. You don't need to worry. The safe house will be, well, just that: safe", she reassured him. The Rohir had no reason to mistrust her, especially after she had saved his life, but he hoped she was right about this safe haven. She had said it had been some years since she had visited the place, so who knew how the city had changed since then? Not to mention, it was quite clear they had different ideas about what was secure.

They did not manage to make such way as yesterday. Lack of food and the strain of their flight slowed down their pace and they had to rest more often. Éomer occasionally looked behind his shoulder and down the river, but no pursuers could yet be seen. A few times he helped Lothíriel to climb a tree, so that she might peer back the way they had come. But she couldn't spot anyone approaching. He dared not be hopeful and believe this meant they had managed to lose the pirates. After all the misfortunes that had fallen on the pirates since leaving Dol Amroth, Éomer surmised they would want to get at least something out of it. With some irony, he considered they probably wanted to catch him now more than ever.

As they ran, he threw an occasional glance to the other side of the river. He wondered if they might be better off on the other side... maybe travel all the way to Ithilien, where Éowyn and Faramir lived. What an event would it be, arriving at their home unannounced with Faramir's cousin by his side! Then again, it was many more days to get there, and he and his companion did not have the supplies they would have needed. Not to mention, Éowyn had told him how unsafe the eastern side of Anduin still was. Orcs had made their nests up on the Mountains of Shadow and Southrons still came and went at will. They had better chances at this side of the river.

Towards the evening, hunger pangs grew worse in his stomach. It became harder and harder to keep up the speed and his body ached from all the abuse and strain he had taken recently. Lothíriel too looked exhausted, but she wore a determined grimace on her face, like she was forcing herself to move. At times she lagged behind and then he allowed them to slow down and take a short rest, but soon enough Éomer was urging them to go on again.

He did not know how much longer they could have kept this up, deprived of nourishment and proper sleep as they were. However, it seemed that luck was on their side, for an hour or so before sunset, he suddenly saw movement on the river. There was a fishing boat, or at least he assumed so – he could not claim to know how to make distinctions between different vessels.

"Lothíriel", he said quickly to his companion, who had been lagging behind with her head bowed, "there's a boat on the river."

Her head perked up and it seemed as though his words somehow injected her with new-found energy and vigour. A spark lit her eyes that had been growing duller as the day progressed.

"Let me speak to him", she said and hastened to the riverbank.

What followed left Éomer feeling once more loss at words. Though he knew by now that this woman managed strange and amazing things, she still was able to impress him.

She called out to the fisherman, speaking in the Common Tongue much like the ordinary folk would. At first, the man seemed reluctant to get close to the side of the river and the odd pair of strangers, but Lothíriel's voice was gently persuasive and most sincere. She quickly provided the fisherman with a story of a shipwreck and how the two of them had escaped with an inch of their lives. It didn't sound rehearsed at all and Éomer felt this story had been perfected in her head long before now.

When the fisherman looked like he was wavering between agreeing and telling them to go where the sun didn't shine, Lothíriel showed him the silver chain she had removed from around her ankle. It was a fine thing, surely worth at least ten boat rides up and down Anduin's delta. The fisherman recognised this too and at last lead his boat close to the bank, so that the exhausted pair could step in. When he had snatched the chain from her hand and seen it was indeed a fine piece of jewellery, he even gave them some dried fish. The food was gratefully received, meagre as it was. Éomer wolfed down his own portion and felt a little better.

The sun began to set as the fisherman took the boat towards Pelargir again. It was quiet on the river and the company of three did not speak much. Éomer looked to west and watched how the sky blazed with the setting sun. Next to him, Lothíriel was dozing off.

Darkness fell at last. He could feel her shivering, which was no wonder – the boat was a damp place, and air was cooler now than it had been last night. So he lifted his arm carefully and wrapped it around her shoulders, offering his own body's heat to help her stay warm. More than half asleep, she scooted closer to him and settled down.

She did not stir when they began seeing other boats, big and small. Folk of the river were returning to their homes, hurrying for supper and bed and company of family and friends. Éomer thought wistfully of his own hearth back in Edoras, of warm lights and hearty meals and mugs of ale shared with friends. Granted, it could be lonely too, for the nights of a man without family were often long and empty.

But he wouldn't be alone tonight. There was a warm someone puffing softly into his collar, and she was not even disturbed when they began to near the port of Pelargir and the sounds of the city reached their ears. He smiled wryly, wondering how someone who was usually so alert and sharp could sleep so soundly.

Lothíriel stirred and woke when the boat hit the port. He thought she looked a little bemused to find herself leaning against him. She moved away quickly and kept her eyes down, and when they reached the dock, she was already looking swift and alert once more. When they had thanked their helper and he had gruffly sent them off, she took the lead and began to show a way through the city.

It was true what she had said about Pelargir, Éomer deemed. It was a city that had seen its best days long ago, and Aragorn's healing hand had not yet given new life to it. Buildings were at various states of disrepair and there were some that still bore the signs of some corsair attack in the past. While the city had originally been built of stone, many repairs had been made of wood rather than newly fashioned building blocks. Overall he did not much like the appearance of this place, and even less he liked the people they passed by. The best looks he and Lothíriel got were suspicious, some were openly hostile. The Rohir kept his hand on the hilt of his blade.

She lead him to what looked to be an older part of the city. He saw a few crumbled houses on the way and even one building with a young tree growing out of its window. He shook his head quietly and thought Aragorn would have his hands full trying to lift this city from how low it had fallen.

At last, Lothíriel had them stopping at the end of a long, narrow corridor. Walls stood up high above them and something about it made Éomer feel like they were being watched.

"The safe house is just across that little square", she whispered to him and nodded ahead. Indeed, there was a little open area, surrounded by buildings. He followed her line of gaze and saw stairs leading up to some kind of an open corridor on the second floor of an old building. Somewhere nearby, there were voices speaking. He remembered her saying the apartment was kept by a tavern keeper; perhaps the establishment was in the same block.

"I don't think the pirates have caught up with us yet", his companion went on, "but I would really like to enter the safe house without anyone seeing us. Let's wait for a moment."

Éomer wondered if such caution was truly necessary, but he didn't speak his thoughts out loud. After all, she had been trained to be stealthy and wary, and if she thought there was a reason to be especially careful, then they would do just that.

So they stood there in the darkness, watching the small, empty square. Lothíriel seemed to be listening keenly for sounds in the night. She stood so still, one might have taken her for a statue.

Eventually she gestured him to follow, and like a pair of phantoms they flew over the square. Nothing stirred in the quiet night as they crossed the remaining space and climbed up the stairs. Perhaps she had just been overly suspicious.

At the end of the open corridor there was one door, but Lothíriel did not go for the handle. Rather, she turned towards him and whispered, "Can you lift me up?"

"For what?" Éomer asked her.

"For our way in", she answered and pointed at the window over the door.

He blinked. Even if was possible to open the window, it was still much too narrow for him to fit through.

Lothíriel seemed to know what he was thinking. She made a soft little sound and shook her head, "I go inside first and open the door for you. The tavern keeper would have the key, but this is more discreet. My aunt may have scared him senseless, but I'd still rather keep him from seeing you."

"Well, if you insist", Éomer answered a little doubtfully and refrained from commenting on her idea of discretion. All the same, he made a step of his hands for her to use and she effectively climbed him like a tree. Soon enough she was sitting on his shoulders, her thighs on each side of his head. Somehow, even after all that had happened so far, _this_ seemed like the most absurd thing to him: he was standing in the front of a nameless door in the city of Pelargir, it was in the middle of a night, and the Princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth was using him as a ladder. He could not help snorting out loud.

"What is it?" she hissed at him.

"Nothing", he answered and tried to stay motionless while she was working. "How do you usually manage this?"

"What do you think? I bring a tall person", she quipped and he laughed softly.

Focused on supporting her, he could not lift his head or see what she was doing to open the window. She struggled for a while and muttered under her breath, until there was a creaking sound of old wood protesting when it was moved from the position it was comfortable with, and she squealed softly in delight. Then she climbed inside like a mad squirrel.

In a few moments he could hear a key turning in the lock and the bolt clicking open. He slipped inside, but Lothiriel was already lighting up a few candles. The room was bigger than he had expected: there was a small fireplace, a table with enough room for four, a tall cupboard, a couple of chairs and a large dark object that looked like it had once been a sofa. A faint cover of dust lay over everything and the air smelled stale. It didn't seem like the owner of this place saw much effort for its upkeep – although he did note firewood had been left by the fireplace. There were two windows and both were covered. His companion opened one, but only so that she could peer out a little bit.

He then noticed there was a door to another room – perhaps some sort of a bedchamber. Éomer thought Lady Ivriniel must be paying the tavern keeper very handsomely to keep such an apartment empty and almost completely unused. Or scared him _very_ deeply. The more Lothíriel spoke of her aunt, more likely the latter option seemed to him. Lothíriel disappeared into the next room and there was a sound of something being moved, but soon enough she returned once more. She held a small pouch in her hand.

"This should do", Lothíriel said, sounding pleased as she brushed dust from the table. "It's not the most charming place, but we'll be safe here."

"After past few days, this seems like a palace", Éomer said firmly and sat heavily on the sofa. Only now did he notice how very tired he was. His feet seemed to have turned into lead and he could scarcely hold up his shoulders.

She nodded, seemingly energetic still. But then, she had slept in the boat, which had returned some of her strength.

"I found Aunt's little stash of coins in the other chamber. Fortunately for us, she was generous to leave us with enough currency to feed ourselves for a month", she told him and glanced at the door. Then looking at him again she went on, "I need to go out and get some food for us. I'll go and check if the tavern keeper might have anything he could sell. And I'll ask him to send a message for me. He'll know how to contact my aunt. Once she gets the message, she'll have Father send us a ship to take us home."

Éomer's body protested when he hauled himself standing again. He would have liked nothing as much as just falling asleep right there, but on the other hand, he was quite famished.

"I'll come with you", he said, trying to stretch some life back into his tired muscles.

"No, you stay here. It's easier for me to go quiet and unnoticed when I'm alone. I'd rather keep you here, out of sight", she said, shaking her head.

He frowned and tried to think of a counter argument, but he was too tired to come up with anything. Even so, he hated the feeling of being useless. After a year of kingship, he still had hard time accepting sometimes he just had to stand back when others went forth to face danger. He refrained from snorting; when this madness was finally over, Éothain and his council were going to lock him up in Meduseld.

On the other hand, he had recently come to know someone who could probably break him out...

He shook his head. Apparently he was so tired, he was starting to become delirious.

"Very well then", Éomer agreed at last and sat down again, heavy and stiff like an old man.

She smiled and slipped out once more, moving swiftly and quietly. He had never seen anyone mortal move so lightly as she did. He knew she must have trained for years to achieve such phantom-like quietness.

Lying down on the sofa was a tempting thought, but he was quite hungry too, and so he occupied himself by getting a small fire going and taking a closer look around the apartment. He also entered the second room, which was a bedchamber like he had thought. There was a neatly made bed a couple could use comfortably, a stand for a washing basin, a massive but ancient cupboard that seemed to be standing simply out of use, and a small desk faced another covered window. Like the other room, this too had a very impersonal feel. Even if the little apartment had not been so dusty and stale, it would have been easy to discern no one actually lived here.

By the time Lothíriel returned, he had brushed the worst of the dust and was feeding some wood to the fire. She carried a basket and bundles of food and a full waterskin on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry I couldn't get more water. I assume you're as eager to wash as I am. I'll go to the well tomorrow", she told him as she opened her bundles and laid out some bread, cold ham and cheese for a late meal. Seeing the fire was going, she also produced a few sausages and tomatoes. The mere sight of all this food made his stomach growl loudly – and also forget his previous thoughts of how nice it would be to get a bath. While he had washed in Anduin the best he could, it only did so much and he had not had a change of clothes for many days now.

"You have already done more than I thought possible yesterday", he simply stated and loaded a frying pan with sausages and tomatoes.

Soon enough the room was full of delicious smell and Éomer had to fight the temptation of eating straight out of pan. Meanwhile, Lothíriel found two brown earthenware plates from the cupboard and mugs to go with them. When she presented him with a pitcher of ale, the Rohir was surprised.

"Is this a feast or a late supper?" he asked her in wonder, making her laugh.

"I rather thought that after this last week, it was deserved", she said warmly. He couldn't have agreed more.

A proper feast it seemed indeed when they took seat by the table and began to eat. First few minutes both of them were too preoccupied with eating to have conversation, but when Éomer had been able to banish the worst of his hunger, he took a sip of his ale – decent enough for Gondorian brew – and looked at his companion.

"I hope you don't mind me wondering", he began carefully, "These past few days, I have seen you do things unlike any woman of Gondor I've met, and... to be honest, there's not your like in Rohan, either. Surely a skill like yours would have been useful on the Pelennor fields?"

Lothíriel didn't seem like she was offended by such a blunt question. She was chewing some bread and cheese, and after she had swallowed, she looked straight at him.

"I don't know about that. We work in secrecy, my aunt and I. That's what we have been trained to do. I'm not sure I would play well among warriors on a battlefield... I fight just fine alone, but know next to nothing about military tactics", she explained and poured them both some more ale.

He supposed it made sense. She always moved like a shadow when she was on a mission, sticking to shadows and deception. It was a little amusing to realise that as a younger man, hot-headed and full of ideas of honour, he would probably have seen her very existence as disgraceful. But because of what she was, he was now alive and free – and he thought he was starting know her well enough to judge that even if her methods were unusual and occasionally ruthless, she _was_ good. This spy princess would never harm an innocent or use her skills for evil deeds.

"But does it never bother you that no one knows what you have done? That you must always stay in shadows?" he asked her.

"I... I don't know. I never thought about it that way", she said at length, considering her half finished meal. Then she met his eyes, "Aunt always taught me that honour and admiration from crowds were something we had no need for. That men played at war and fought to have their names remembered in books and songs, while we did what we must so that the realm could live on."

It was an unusual perspective. But then, she – and her aunt, as he suspected – was an unusual woman.

They finished their meal soon after, and at that point, both of them were so exhausted it was a struggle to be able to clean up. But they managed it somehow, and then had a brief argument on which one of them should have the bed. Éomer did not point out that it was big enough for them both; he decided to be the gentleman instead and insisted he'd sleep on the sofa.

She agreed at last, but he suspected it was mostly because she was too tired to argue longer.

So they bid each other good night and she disappeared inside the bedchamber. Éomer more or less collapsed on his bed for the night and the sofa groaned under his weight. But he was settled down soon enough and he passed out before he even knew it.

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** Here's an update for the weekend! I hope you enjoyed it. :)

I enjoyed writing this chapter, as it gave a great opportunity to develop their relationship a bit more and let them get to know one another. They're getting along pretty well actually, for reasons that are hinted at here and maybe explored more in coming chapters.

Lothíriel's POV gives reasons as to why she had no difficulty in telling Éomer who she is. It's just a reasonable and practical thing to do, because they're going to be together for some time and it's just much easier for her not to lie when in the presence of someone who is not easily deceived. Plus, like she thinks to herself, it's politics, too: maybe he won't be so mad with her brothers when he knows it's their sister who helped him.

Thanks for reading and reviewing! Your comments are most appreciated. :)

* * *

 **Nerdanel -** Thank you! It's really fun to explore their characters and bounce them off of one another, if you get what I mean. :) And I'm glad to hear I've managed to portray her in that way! I think she is much more compelling when she has her own issues and flaws.

 **EStrunk -** Excellent viewpoints! Perhaps this chapter puts some more light on that. And we'll see what will happen with the corsairs now!

It felt good to get him out of that cage and start doing things, really. And I hope the reasons for her revealing herself listed in the story and in A/N make sense to you!

 **Doranwen -** I'm glad you liked it. :D And you are quite correct. Their dynamics are very fascinating to write, because they have so different ideas about how to manage things.

 **A -** I'm afraid I must leave that to the guessing right now!

 **Wondereye -** They are different, but maybe they have some things in common, too!

 **Jo -** Happy to hear that! I do enjoy keeping my readers on the edges of their seats. :D

 **sai19 -** And it always makes me smile to get such lovely comments! :) I hope you enjoyed their trip to the safe house.

 **Anon -** Yes, he is always fun to write! And I do agree he would find it difficult to reconcile with sneaking around to get things done. He's too straightforward to feel comfortable with it.

You're absolutely right about the reasons she reveals herself! They are definitely a part of why she tells him her name like that.

 **Merakia -** You are quite correct! Her methods can be quite ruthless, and I don't think she has ever really questioned them before now. You are quite correct they could learn a lot from one another!

Actually, the bit about "lady in the house of red veils" doesn't refer to the name of the establishment - red veils are just what Lothíriel remembers most vividly about it. So I don't think it should be in capitals? But anyway, I'm always happy to receive grammar feedback!

Also I'm glad to hear my replies cleared things out! Don't hesitate to ask, if something is confusing. :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

It was full day when Éomer woke up. He could not recall the last time he had slept so deeply. Even if a band of orcs had marched in last night, he probably would not have woken up to notice.

He was glad to have been able to rest so. Much of the strain of past few days was gone from his muscles and he felt renewed. It had been good to sleep without having to worry about being found in the middle of the night. He stretched lazily and the sofa groaned under him. Somewhere outside, dogs were barking. These perfectly ordinary sounds seemed like such a blessed thing after many days of strife. When he sat up and raked a hand through his tangled hair, he grimaced to himself. It was a wonder that fisherman had agreed to ship him and Lothíriel to the city. He must be looking like a perfectly haggard disaster.

Once he was up, Éomer checked the other room as silently as he could. Lothíriel still slept, resting on her belly and sprawled on the bed like she had just fallen there and lost her consciousness the moment she hit the mattress.

He smiled to himself. When she slept, she looked so... so _harmless._ One might even forget she could put down a man in five seconds if she wanted. The young woman with a name as sweet as flowers was in fact as deadly as a viper.

The Rohir returned to the first room. Lothíriel had bought them enough food for three or four meals, and so he began to work on a breakfast – a skill acquired at many years of serving as Rider. He rummaged the tall cupboard, not out of expecting to find foodstuff but sheer curiosity. There was not even tea from her last stay. Then again, she had said it was years since she had last been here. He did discover a little bit of seasoning, though, for which he was glad when he found some eggs in the basket she had got from the tavern keeper.

"Good morning! Something smells good", a voice greeted him from behind, and Éomer turned to see his companion. He blinked and almost dropped the pan: there stood a woman in roughly woven gown and her long, black hair streamed down her shoulders. With a bright smile on her face, she looked so lovely and innocuous one could never have imagined the shady things she did in the name of Dol Amroth. And he was a fool who had taken her for a lad!

"Morning", he managed to answer and lifted the pan, "Breakfast?"

"Yes please", she said eagerly and hurried to set the table. They worked in companionable silence and he noted there was ease to how they operated together. She claimed to be a lone wolf, but Éomer wondered to himself if that was the truth, or just something her aunt had made her believe.

When they were eating, he made a light joke at her choice of attire.

"Not dressing as a boy anymore?" he asked with wry humour. She snorted as an answer.

"What, would you prefer it that way?" she quipped and there was a teasing look in her eyes, carefree and genuine. Suddenly he felt just as confused as before. But if Lothíriel noticed that, she did not reveal it. She continued to speak, "I'm going to get us some water from the well nearby. There will be people outside, and the more I look like a commoner, the smaller the chance will be that I'm noticed."

He frowned.

"Do you really think it's necessary?" he asked her. It sounded over cautious to him, but then again, what did he know?

"Well, considering I'm the one responsible for your safety and well-being right now, I'm not going to take any chances", she stated firmly. The Rohir hid a smile at her tone and the sheer absurdity of this little spy princess guarding him, a veteran of the Ring War and a warrior counted among the best of his age. She sounded like she could give Éothain a run for his money as far as fussing went.

While he was still thinking of this, she spoke again, "I'm sorry we don't have any clothes for you – not in your size, at least. I could go and see if there is anything at the markets, though."

"I would appreciate it. These are getting a little ripe", he noted and made a face. It was bewildering to think of all that happened over the past few days. It seemed like many weeks had passed since his ill-fated visit to the tavern in Dol Amroth. He could only wonder what was happening there now, and if Imrahil had been able to placate his Riders. Éothain should be able to keep them in line, but only if he did not allow his own fear and concern to take over. And if the captain held the Prince and his sons responsible for his king going missing... well, he just hoped his friend wouldn't declare a war between Rohan and Dol Amroth. But if Éothain managed to check them until Éomer was able to join them again, he imagined their hard feelings would be soothed when they learned that Imrahil's own daughter had saved him. At least himself, he was ready to forgive a lot of things for what she had done for him – and was still doing.

He also wondered if the corsairs had actually followed them all this way. Lothíriel and him hadn't left much of a trail to follow, but on the other hand, would it be necessary? Pelargir was a rather obvious destination for two fugitives. And Lothíriel had said the ship had taken so much damage, it wasn't likely they could escape her father's fleet. They still had much to gain if they could recapture their prize.

"What are you thinking of?" Lothíriel asked suddenly. He looked up from his food, which he had been staring at with unseeing eyes as he pondered. She had finished eating and was making a plain braid in her hair – something a woman from these parts might do to keep it away from her face. He idly thought of how beautiful her hair was when open.

"Just... everything. I was thinking of how my captain has taken all this... if he and my men are already tearing Dol Amroth apart. And I wonder if the corsairs truly followed us here", he answered at length.

"Do you think your men will be very harsh with my family?" she asked him warily.

"I don't know. I suppose it depends on what your father tells them… and how well your aunt is able to convince them of your skills. My Riders know that women can fight as well as any man, but they may have some difficulty in accepting the idea of a lady of Gondor working as a spy", he answered and pushed a slice of tomato in his mouth.

"I can understand that. But the best we can do right now is to stay put. The journey to Dol Amroth is long on foot and we don't have enough coin to buy horses. Plenty can go wrong on the road and I won't allow you getting killed after managing to get you this far safe and unscathed. Father will send a ship to fetch us as soon as my message gets to him. It may take a few days, so we must be patient and hope for the best", she said determinedly. Éomer felt half frustrated and half amused. For one so young, she somehow managed to be very convincing and commanding.

And she was right, of course. It would be foolish to go wandering the countryside when they had a perfectly good sanctuary right here. The journey would be faster either way if they just patiently waited for the ship and they would spare Imrahil's Swan Knights from having to search for them in the long roads between the cities. Éothain would tell him to stay and wait, not risk himself needlessly.

"Aye, I suppose you're correct", he sighed. "I simply do not like sitting around and waiting."

"Oh, I know how that feels", she said softly. Then she let out a small laugh, "My impatience was also Aunt's favourite topic for lectures. Sometimes I can still hear her shouting in my dreams, telling me to go slower and steadier and bide my time."

"She's one stern woman, isn't she?" Éomer commented quietly. Judging by everything Lothíriel had told him about her aunt and mentor, he wasn't sure he'd like the woman very much.

"Oh, that she is. I do not think she would be alive today if she wasn't", she said and looked away. A slight crease formed between her brows.

"Is that what one must become, then? If one wishes not to die in your trade?" Éomer asked her, searching for her eyes. But she wouldn't meet his gaze directly.

"She believes so", said Lothíriel in an unsure voice. Then she shook her head as if to get rid of an unpleasant thought. She got up on her feet so quickly that she almost lost control of her feet. The clumsy movement seemed odd compared to her usual stealthy grace.

"I must get going if we wish to have a bath today. Stay put, my lord", she announced, using a formal tone she had not been using often until now. But then it occurred to Éomer she had never been particularly formal with him to begin with.

Lothíriel swept out before he could come up with a sufficient answer. He sighed once more and imagined Éowyn standing nearby, arms crossed on her chest and her foot tapping the floor impatiently.

 _You and your big mouth._

* * *

Armed with two buckets from the little apartment, Lothíriel headed swiftly for the public well near their safe house.

It felt like he had seen straight through her, guessed her fear that she would never be as good as her aunt... and the other side of that fear: that she didn't _want_ to change herself so deeply and dramatically as becoming Lady Ivriniel's equal would require. The strange, shady history of the Hidden Blades did not know many who could compare to Aunt, but on the other hand, Lothíriel had never known anyone who was as cold and loveless. In her heart of hearts, she dreaded sharing that fate. Aunt had taught her great many things, but not how to make sense of her own heart, her own desires. And so for the longest time, even she had ignored their existence.

And yet she hadn't really understood this until now – until Éomer had asked her if she ever thought about what her life would be like in future. It was a rather depressing thing to realise she probably didn't have choice anymore. Maybe the best she could hope now was to just become like her aunt, to unattach herself as far from human emotion as she could. Then it wouldn't matter what she did, and surely certain troubled thoughts about truth and the value of life she had been trying to avoid past few days would be gone for good. It was dreadful to think that was all she could expect. But what else could there be? How could she find anything _real_ in her life, if all she did was manipulate and lie? How could _she_ be real?

Yet perhaps, if she could find someone like him… someone who knew and loved truth, and could teach her to live by it, too.

The thought nearly had her walking straight into the open door of a small shop. The most obvious observation occurred to her immediately, but soon enough she was berating herself inside her head with a voice that sounded disturbingly like Aunt's. She couldn't get confused in the middle of such an important mission.

There was some fortune to her near collision though: the shop happened to sell some clothing, even in Éomer's size – she had worried she wouldn't find anything for a man so absurdly big.

At the wells she met some of the local women, talking and gossiping until they saw her pulling up water. They cornered her like a flock of birds and were shooting questions at her: who was she, where had she come from, and was she new in the city? She made up a quick little story about how she and her husband had recently moved into the city to find work, but that he had got sick almost immediately upon their arrival, and so she had been busy tending to him. The company of women seemed to accept this tale easily enough and she was able to leave the wells without becoming a target for greater interest among the crowd.

When she got back to the apartment, she cast a long, searching look around the buildings of the small square. Nothing seemed to be out of ordinary, but one does not simply dismiss every caution when one is trying to keep a foreign king safe and sound. And truth be told, Éomer's words had stuck with her: perhaps he was right about the corsairs and their loyalty to their captain. She kept waiting to see the face of one them somewhere in the shadows, staring at her with murderous intent.

A shiver ran down her spine, but it was gone when she entered the little apartment. There Éomer stood by the table, cleaning up after their meal and humming slowly to himself. But he seemed to have heard her approaching from some way, which did not put her on the edge; she was glad to be with someone who was just as ready and alert. No corsair would be taking them by surprise.

When he saw her dragging the two buckets, he frowned and put down the mugs he had been handling.

"I should be doing that", he stated gruffly.

"I appreciate the sentiment, but what do you think would happen if the dozen inquisitive ladies I just met were to witness a Rohirric warrior drawing water from a well in the city of Pelargir?" she asked him as she put down the buckets and poured enough in a pot to heat up for washing the dishes.

Éomer did not seem pleased, but neither could he come up with a counter argument. He sighed and crouched to stir the fire.

"I must seem like the most useless companion in the world", he muttered. She was not surprised by this change of mood – she knew already he was a man of action, and it must be asking him a lot to stand back.

"My friend, you're too hard on yourself. You're like a man who has been thrown in the water for the first time in his life and still expects to know how to swim. And if you were useless, we would both be dead by now", Lothíriel told him calmly. Then she flashed him a smile, "Not to mention, you make the tastiest eggs I've ever had, and that's saying something."

She could see the corner of his mouth twitching, until at last he gave in and smiled.

"So that's why you keep me around?" he asked her and humour returned to his voice.

"Absolutely", she told him cheerfully. "I can't risk you running off and establishing a business on your fabulous cooking."

Now he laughed out loud and seemed visibly cheered. It rather made her feel better, too. At least this was real.

"Good to know I can always make a living if I fail as a king", he said in wry humour. She didn't really think that a probable outcome – she had listened enough of her father and brothers' praise of Éomer – but she didn't say that out loud.

He was overjoyed when she handed him the fresh clothes, but insisted her to use water first for washing, and so she retired to the bedchamber to get clean. It couldn't compare to a bath, but she had managed to find some soap and she felt very much refreshed when she was done. Then she gave up the room for her friend, who looked just as anxious to wash as she had been. Lothíriel hid a smile; so much for her aunt's insistence that Rohirrim were uncivilised people who cared little about cleanliness. It sometimes surprised her that a person who had travelled so far and wide as her aunt seemed to have some very fixed prejudices.

Éomer had already cleaned up after their breakfast – and the man still felt useless! – so there wasn't really much to do in the main room. She poked at the fire and thought they would need more firewood and water as well. Lothíriel cringed to herself, for she did not look forward to dragging buckets of water and piles of logs. She might be stuck doing just that for many days, depending on how quickly the tavern keeper could get the message to her aunt. On the other hand, if things seemed calm enough, maybe they could book a passage on one of the ships from the harbour? Ships from Dol Amroth frequently stopped at Pelargir on their way to or from Minas Tirith. At least, that would spare them from sitting here and waiting for help to arrive. It might be better for Éomer's peace of mind.

She turned around from the fireplace – and got a very unfortunate view into the bedchamber, for her companion had forgotten to shut it completely. She froze where she stood and her mouth went dry, for the Rohir was stripped to the waist and she wasn't sure if she had ever seen anything as beautiful as the lethal grace of his movements and his golden hair falling against his tanned skin in bright daylight.

Lothíriel turned away so quickly that she nearly lost her footing. Her cheeks were burning hot and she intensely wanted to dump her head in cold water. Hadn't she been telling herself before how stupid it would be to get confused right now? It was as though her years of training had ceased to exist. Aunt would be so disappointed with her if she knew.

When Éomer joined her again, she did her best not to look at him straight. It was hard, because she was abruptly aware of how proudly and confidently he held himself, like a man born to rule. He was now arrayed in clothes she had got for him, fresh and tidy with his hair tied back. When the grime and sweat of their flight had been washed away, it was difficult to ignore the fact he was one of the most attractive members of his sex she had ever met.

She desperately tried to think of what Aunt would tell her. Then again, she wasn't sure the woman had ever found a man pleasing to her eye. Aunt seemed mostly disgusted with males, and probably expected her student to naturally share the sentiment. Lady Ivriniel had always told her that most men were brutish creatures, ruled by their crude desires and emotions. Only if they were trained diligently from childhood, they could be taught to follow certain principles that were generally for the common good.

But as Éomer spoke in a soft voice and pulled on his boots, she couldn't see anything crude about him. Maybe he was a little rough around the edges compared to Gondorian lords, and certainly he was different than most men she had met, be it as a princess or a spy. But none of that was _bad,_ or crass in the sense Aunt would imply. This King of Rohan had dignity about him, but also passion and strength. Not one of these qualities seemed like they weren't a natural part of who he was. Maybe Aunt was not entirely fair or right with her assessment.

This thought made her relax once more, at least enough so that Éomer didn't notice she was uneasy. Aunt had taught her to hide her feelings, and the Rohir, though he seemed a keen judge of character, was not yet so close to her that he could read her mood when she was doing her best to conceal it.

The day passed uneventfully in their little safe haven. Most of it they spent talking of this or that, telling each other about their lives before this unexpected journey. Lothíriel was just as eager to hear about Rohan as Éomer was to ask about her life as the Hidden Blade. For a time, they even forgot that right now they were the prisoners of this small apartment.

Their conversations were disrupted when Lothíriel left once more to get more water and some firewood. She had to make two trips to manage this, but she was glad for the chance to stretch her legs and get some fresh air.

Éomer was not so lucky; he had agreed to stay put, but he was pacing when she got back from her second trip outside. He was moving from one window to another and gazing out for a minute before continuing his restless wandering. In his body's language there was something like in the gait of a beast in cage. She remembered seeing a lion once when a travelling fair had come to Dol Amroth, and the great predator they had kept as a jewel of their collection of wonders from distant lands. Her and Amrothos had got close to the bars while their nursemaid's eye had been turned the other way and she would never forget how the animal had snapped at them, its mighty teeth only inches away from the two children. She thought right then King of Rohan was remarkably like that great cat; the long golden hair streaming down his shoulders surely heightened the sensation.

He relaxed a little when she joined him once more and said she had bought them some tea, and for a while they were both preoccupied preparing it. She toasted a few loaves from yesterday's bread and topped it with what remained of cheese. She'd have to go and get more food tomorrow.

Over the tea and the toasted bread, they resumed to conversations and tales, and the Rohir seemed to relax a little once more. He was smiling at her over his mug of tea, his long fingers cradling it between his hands. She noted how flecks of gold were revealed in his dark eyes and the warm light made him look surprisingly gentle. Lothíriel had already seen he could be very fierce and threatening when he didn't smile and his eyes were without this glimmer. In those moments he surely looked like a ferocious warrior king from the wild north. Yet that was not all she saw: to her he had become a trusted companion. In his presence, she didn't need to lie about anything or watch her back. She could simply _be._

Perhaps that was not all. For when he smiled at her, her heart took a misstep and leapt. Lothíriel felt both like a young girl giggling at the sight of a gallant knight, and also very foolish. She could almost hear Aunt's voice in her head, scolding her like she was a thoughtless child.

That was the reason she eventually figured it might be smart to get out of the little apartment, catch some fresh air, and clear her head. Because the longer she was in the immediate vicinity of this horselord, the harder it became to keep her thoughts straight.

Thankfully, she had actual valid reason to go out without looking like she was acting strange.

"I was thinking", she said as she finished her tea and laid the cup on the now empty earthenware plate, "It might be a good idea to go and talk more with the tavern keeper. There wasn't time last night… I'd like to get some tidings. Find out whether the news about your disappearance have already spread – and if there's any word of strangers arriving at the port."

Éomer looked at her with dark eyes, his earlier gentle humour gone.

"I don't suppose you'll let me come along?" he asked her wryly, already prepared to resign to his fate.

"You should stay here. I know it's frustrating, but we can't risk exposing you. There are plenty of folk living in this city who wouldn't hesitate to take advantage of our circumstances", she responded in soft tones.

The Rohir sighed and looked unhappy, but he said nothing, except for a muttered " _be careful out there."_

She promised she would be, and then Lothíriel slipped out into the night. She breathed in the cool air and felt indeed a little clearer. It was easier to focus on her goals when _he_ wasn't here to distract and confuse her thoughts. Grimacing in the dark, she imagined Aunt would probably tell her to stay away from him as much as she could. Why hadn't they ever talked about this? Well, maybe the old woman had expected that her visit to the house with red veils would have taken care of such fancies.

The inn was quieter tonight when she stepped inside. A few parties of two, three people sat around tables, nursing tankards of ale as they spoke in low voices; it was not so late yet that the house brew would have made the clients merry and rowdy. The establishment was nice enough in the standards of the city. It was clean, with polished furniture, and food that was actually edible. All in all, it was not a place the corsairs would be first looking for a missing horselord. So she hoped.

The keeper of the tavern was a short, round-faced man in his fifties. His expression was one of constant concern. She wondered if he had always appeared so, or only after his business with Aunt Ivriniel.

"Evening, Master Gelmir", she greeted him in a soft voice as she halted at the counter, which he had been polishing with a faded rag.

"Mistress", he greeted her and threw a nervous look around, like he expected Aunt to be lurking somewhere close. Lothíriel had told him she was travelling alone this time, but apparently he was not confident the dreaded woman wasn't watching.

"Have you got any news? Anything interesting going on in the realm?" she asked him. She didn't meet his eyes, but pretended to be highly interested in the mug he had produced for her and was now filling with foaming ale. Granted, the clientele didn't look like they would have a reason to pay particular attention to her. But it would be bad form to let her own slip somehow compromise the safety of the king she was trying to keep hidden and secure.

"Dol Amroth and Minas Tirith are in uproar. Apparently, the King Éomer has gone missing during his visit to south. It's not sounding good – I have already heard talk of war. As though the last one wasn't enough", Gelmir huffed and looked even more worried than usual. She imagined war would be quite devastating for his business.

"Yes, I heard about it", she muttered and brought the cup to her lips, taking only a small sip. "What will King Elessar do? Has there been any word of what he's planning?"

"Not yet. I suppose he doesn't want to reveal his intentions yet, though I'm sure he already has some kind of a rescue mission in action", said the tavern keeper. Lothíriel glanced at him quickly.

"So he knows who took his ally captive?" she asked. If King Elessar came south – well, that might just solve all her problems. Deliver Éomer straight to safety, make sure politics were taken care of, and convey an absolutely clear message to the corsairs: they weren't going to get vengeance under the very nose of the King of Arnor and Gondor.

"They say it was corsairs, but if that's the case, I don't think there's much hope of saving Rohan's king. Their ships are swift and their malice is particularly keen for those of the House of Eorl. Southrons have not forgotten or forgiven the fate of the Black Serpent", Gelmir responded and shook his head, much as one would over someone's deathbed. Meanwhile, Lothíriel bit the innards of her cheeks to keep from smiling.

 _Oh, I'm working on it, and I think I just might be able to pull this off,_ she thought to herself. But Gelmir didn't need to know that.

"Say, has there been any corsair sightings near Pelargir? If they have grown so bold they'd capture the King of Rohan himself, then surely there has had to be some increase in their activity", she said quietly, sipping more of her ale. It wasn't particularly good, but it wasn't like she came here for drink and atmosphere.

"Not corsairs that I have heard of", said Gelmir as he continued to polish the counter with round motions of his hardened hand, "but there was a pair of fishers earlier, and they said they had seen a badly wrecked Southron ship sailing upriver. I assume they are legitimate merchants, or elsewise Amrothians would already have intercepted them."

She looked down and hid her frown. So the corsairs were coming to Pelargir. Did it mean they were still planning on chasing her and Éomer? Or were they just hoping to dock here to make repairs on their ship? Maybe they hoped for _both._ Whatever the case may be, she knew they needed to be careful.

Lothíriel met the tavern keeper's gaze again.

"Keep your eyes and ears open, Master Gelmir. If you hear anything more about this ship and its crew, I would like to know about it", she told him in a low voice.

"What's your interest in them, Mistress?" he inquired her. In his small, grey eyes there was a curious look.

Lothíriel shrugged as nonchalantly as possible.

"I just like to know things. _She_ always tells me to pay attention even when something may seem irrelevant", she answered and immediately felt bad when she saw the way Gelmir paled. But she told herself it was necessary to hint at her aunt's name. She couldn't compromise Éomer's safety by letting Gelmir put his nose where it didn't belong. On the other hand, would Éomer approve of her frightening this poor man just to keep him safe? The answer was unlikely in her favour, but right now, she had no choice.

Lothíriel just hoped Gelmir would take the hint and restrain his curiosity. Otherwise, she imagined he would be going to an early grave.

"By the way, can you sell me some more food?" she asked him then, hoping to distract him from the topic at hand. But soon enough she realised what a basic mistake she had just made.

Gelmir lifted his eyebrows.

"You need more food already, Mistress? The load I gave you last night should last at least a couple of days", he pointed out, and she immediately wanted to give herself a good kick. What a stupid move! Now she had suggested she wasn't alone here!

Again she shrugged and feigned indifference.

"I'm expecting company", she merely said, and once more, Gelmir's face grew white.

"Is _she_ coming here?" he asked in a thin little voice. Indeed, if his nerves got often wrecked in this fashion, his heart was sure to give out sooner or later.

"It's not for me to disclose", Lothíriel said and sniffed, knowing Gelmir wasn't going to ask any more questions. No, it was not nice, but if the man was too busy being terrified of Aunt Ivriniel, he wouldn't be thinking about her little slip. And Éomer would stay safe and sound.

It was her job, doing the dirty, unpleasant thing that the high and honourable had declared below their dignity.

Lothíriel had never questioned this fact. But as she carried another basket of food back to the safe house and was greeted by the smiling face of the man who was brave and decent and just _good_ , she found herself wondering if hers was a reality she could truly live with in the long run.

* * *

After Lothíriel had returned, they spent a couple of hours talking about and analysing the news she had heard from the tavern keeper. It was as Éomer had feared: the corsairs had decided to sail here. He surely didn't like being anywhere in their vicinity while he and the Princess were so badly at disadvantage, but she reassured him they would be safe while they kept their heads down. And their earlier reasoning not to go and travel to Dol Amroth or any other city by foot was still valid.

Seeing there wasn't anything they could actually do now, they eventually agreed to try and get some rest. Perhaps new day would also bring more tidings.

He insisted her to take the bedchamber again, while he laid down on the sofa. Sleep didn't come to Éomer quite as easily as last night; all the events of past week were running in circles inside his head, and he was also thinking about the corsairs and whether there would be another confrontation.

Eventually he did sink into uneasy sleep, though. But as it so often did when his mind was troubled, his rest was plagued by a familiar nightmare.

It was always the same: a great field was about him, torn and burnt and ravaged in battle. Light had a reddish tint to it, as though Sun herself had been washed in blood. Dead bodies littered the ground, faces twisted in terror, limbs broken and mangled. So many of them bore the familiar green cloaks, or still clasped round shields in their hands, and the sun emblem was hacked and bloody more often than not. And then, as soon as he recognised this scene, Éomer relived that horrifying moment once more, and he saw the image that was burned to his memory clear and vivid: Éowyn's pale face among the slain, and the grief and madness that fell on him when he understood he was alone in the world. He couldn't say how he got back in the saddle – he only knew then that he was riding, riding through the ranks of orcs, and Gúthwinë sang in his hand as he cleaved left and right. Madness drove him and he roared his curses and laments into the fray, and all he wanted, all he expected, was a way to join his family in grave.

He woke up with a gasp and almost fell down to the floor. Cold sweat covered his skin and for a minute, Éomer could not recall where he was. His heart raced in panic and before he even knew it, he was already on his feet. It was dark, but he could more _sense_ the walls than see them, and it felt like all the building would come crashing down on him any minute now.

He needed to get out. And he needed to get some air.

The Rohir rushed out, heedless to the noise he made as he threw the door open. Then his hands grasped at the stone railing that marked the edge of the open corridor of the second floor of the building. Night was still and dark, and its air spoke of coming rain. His breathing was still laboured as he pressed his forehead against a stone pillar, though he was already starting to feel a bit calmer.

Leaning still against the cool stone, Éomer reminded himself of three important facts: Éowyn was alive and safe in Ithilien, they had survived, and the war had ended with their victory. But though these things were true, the nightmare still returned from time to time. And he knew he wasn't the only one among the veterans of the Ring War who returned to that accursed field in his dreams.

He heard movement behind himself, and then a soft voice spoke in concern.

"Éomer? What is wrong?" asked Lothíriel. Of course she would be sleeping lightly enough to hear him suddenly bursting out of the apartment.

The Rohir did not answer at first. She seemed so single-minded all the time, and sometimes ruthless. He was sure her aunt would regard having such nightmares as a weakness, but what about Lothíriel? What would she think of a man who couldn't forget the horror of what could just be the worst day of his life?

And yet, how could he say anything except the truth?

"A nightmare", he muttered at length, staring into the night but not really seeing anything. "I was remembering the Pelennor fields."

Lothíriel came to stand next to him, pressing her hands against stone railing.

"I see. My brothers have dreams about it sometimes, too. It's not like they meant to let me know, but I've walked in on a few late night conversations I wasn't supposed to hear. It's all right, my friend – I have heard enough tales of that day to understand why the memory persists", she said softly, much to his surprise. Éomer hadn't known his Amrothian friends had just as hard time forgetting.

"Do you ever have such dreams?" he asked her, studying her features in dim light.

"No. But I haven't been doing this for very long, and I'm not supposed to engage unless I have the advantage. If it's me against multiple enemies and I have the option of running, then that's what I need to do", she answered slowly. Éomer thought he could spy a slight crease on her brow in the darkness.

She looked at him then, "So you see it's different for me. I don't get involved the way you do. It's… a lot cleaner, if that makes sense."

He thought to ask if the things she did ever came back to haunt her. But she had said she hadn't been Lady of the Hidden Blade for long, so perhaps this trade had not yet fully consumed her.

Perhaps her aunt's teachings were still an absolute truth of her world, sheltering her from understanding her own darkness. What would happen to this woman, if she continued to live like this? Would the goodness he saw in her vanish, until ruthless lies truly became a part of her? He shuddered at the thought.

"Some things you can't forget", Éomer said at length, heavy with the pain of knowing. "And you are lucky to have escaped it so far. But there's a darkness in this world that one can't avoid for ever, and it will always be there, even without a dark lord to lurk as a menace."

"Yes", she agreed softly, leaning her elbows against the railing as she peered into the night. But then she turned her eyes towards him and she put her hand on his in a comforting gesture. She continued, "My grandfather once told me that's why the Eldar call our world Arda Marred. Darkness and horror are a part of it… but that is the reason people like you exist. Because you can shoulder it for others and make it a little better. Me, I just scurry around in the darkness like some spider. But you give others an example – something they can look up to and strive to become. You show the world that decency is a choice anyone can and should make."

Éomer stood silent, looking at her in wonder. How to tell her that she had just given him one of the greatest compliments he had ever received? That with these words, his burdens were easier to bear and there was sense in braving on? Something like that was not easily spoken out loud. But Lothíriel lifted her eyes and smiled wryly at him, as though she didn't understand what gift she had just given him. He turned his hand, so that the tips of her fingers were against his palm, and his against hers. For a second he wanted to grasp her hand and never let go, but she reacted before he did. Lothíriel withdrew her fingers and looked away again, and her dark hair veiled her face from him.

"You are so much braver than I could ever hope to be", she said softly.

He coughed to clear his throat – and his head from the astonishment and something he couldn't name. It was a wonder he was able to get anything out.

"If I learned something during the Ring War, it is that courage takes many forms. It's one thing to face your enemy on battlefield. Another is to board a ship full of corsairs and put your life in line to save someone you don't even know. You are a fearless woman", he pointed out.

"Fearless – or foolhardy", said Lothíriel with a teasing tone to her voice. "And in any case, courage is not same as fearless. The former implies some common sense, you see."

"You don't have any common sense, then?" he asked, finding himself feeling much lighter already.

"If you ask my father, no", she answered in good humour and reached to pat his forearm. "Come along. It's still hours before dawn. We should go back to bed."

"Aye", he replied, though he wasn't necessarily eager to let this moment end yet. But she was already shifting towards the door, and so Éomer let himself be lead back inside.

* * *

Torion was muttering as he hauled his fishnets into his boat.

Anduin had been unforgiving today: the river had yielded so little fish, the pitiful amount did not recommend showing his face at the markets next morning. He could have waited for rain and then cast his nets again, but he decided against it. After all, for this week – or month, maybe – his livelihood did not depend on the generosity of Anduin the great.

He was considered by some as the most stubborn fisherman in all of Pelargir. Such reputation had been attached to him because ever since he had been a young man, he had been going further downriver than anyone else cared. Torion preferred to fish in solitude, not to listen to the constant yapping of his fellow fishermen. Sometimes it yielded good haul, sometimes not. Last night, the catch had been exceptional.

He touched the little pouch on his belt again, just to make sure it was still there. The silver chain he had received last night as payment was safely tucked inside. He had not yet had a chance to meet a silversmith, but he was certain it would guarantee quite a few meals for him and his lazy, good for nothing son.

He thought again about the pair he had shipped to Pelargir. What a curious scene! The girl had looked like a Gondorian, but the man had to be one of Rohirrim, Torion was sure of it. While his grasp of Common Tongue had been astonishingly good, his array and blond tangled hair rather announced the land of his origin. But what would two such strange companions be doing here? He was sure there was more to it than met the eye. Torion had heard peculiar tidings of King Éomer of Rohan going missing, but he didn't presume the tall Rohir could be _him._ For it was said pirates had caught him, and surely he and his captors would be halfway down to Umbar by now. Not to mention, the girl did not fit that image at all. So, he reasoned it just had to be some bizarre coincidence. After all, traffic between Gondor and Rohan had been much greater since the ending of the war.

Torion had just got his nets cleared out when a sudden voice calling from the bank of the river disrupted him. He looked up in wonder. What were the odds?

"Hello there!"

It was getting dim already, but he could make out a male figure standing by the stream and waving at him in earnest.

"And who would you be?" Torion shouted back, trying to decide what he should do. Were survivors of wrecked ships becoming some kind of a thing in these parts? Maybe this man was from the same ship as the pair last night. They had not said others had made it alive, but perhaps they simply hadn't known.

"Just a weary traveller. Might I speak with you, good master?" came the answer.

Torion pondered what to do for a moment. He couldn't say he wasn't curious, and maybe there was a chance of earning more silver – or even gold! – by transporting this fellow to Pelargir, too. After all, his joints were not what they used to be, and his fool of a son could not be trusted to be able to catch even a dead fish. Some extra coin would surely be helpful.

At length he decided it was worth the shot, and so he guided his boat towards the bank.

In less than minutes, he was already regretting his decision.

For there was hardly two feet between his boat and the bank when the low bushes by the bank came alive. Suddenly, the place was swarming with armed men. Easily they took a hold of his boat and dragged him to the riverbank while Torion cried his pleas for mercy. What a fool he was! He should have known better!

"Bring him to me", said a new voice. Two men lifted Torion from under his arms and dragged him to where stood a man dressed in dark cloak made of light silk. He was resting a hand on a curved blade so that the Black Serpent embroidered into his tunic was in view. Torion cursed himself yet again: he knew this insignia and what it meant.

"Please, I'm just an old man, I have nothing but my little boat -" he began to rant nervously. What could these villains benefit from killing an old helpless fisherman?

"Quiet", the leader of this ragtag company commanded. His voice was so cold, it sent shivers down Torion's spine.

"Shanum, are you sure this isn't a waste of time?" asked one of the men surrounding them. He was using their own speech, but Torion had happened to learn the tongue of Southrons back in his youth; merchants from Umbar had at a time been welcome in Pelargir and he had often sold his fish to them.

"We need information. He may have seen something, and even if he hasn't, we're not going to leave without asking. We owe that much to our captain", replied the one named Shanum while he stared at Torion with eyes as black as night. There were some mutterings, but no one argued further.

"W-what do you want?" Torion asked in a strained voice.

"Tell me, fisherman, have you seen a man and a young woman travelling near the river towards Pelargir?" Shanum wanted to know. The gaze of his eyes nailed the old man where he was and for a second Torion wondered if the followers of Black Serpent had a snake's ability hypnotize.

"M-m-maybe", he stammered. "I don't know."

"It would be impossible to make a mistake about the man. He is one of the Rohirrim, tall and blond-haired. And the young woman" - Shanum spat hatefully - "is dressed like a boy."

Torion swallowed. What did he care about some odd people he didn't even know? He had his own little life to worry about, and it was nothing to him if these strange, dangerous folk chased one another across lands and rivers. Maybe the Rohir and the woman were already beyond the reach of this lot and it wouldn't matter what Torion told them.

"I - I may have seen such folk only last night", he said at last, hoping these corsairs would be content with truth, and leave him be once they had heard what they wanted.

Shanum smiled. Even in the darkness, Torion could see how very hateful that expression made him seem.

"Well then", said the Southron in velvety voice, "Why don't you tell me everything you know?"

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** Phew! This one was a bitch to write, though I enjoyed it as well. It was great to build Éomer and Lothíriel's relationship even more, and I especially enjoyed being inside Lothíriel's head and exploring what this prolonged exposure to Éomer is causing to her. It does seem like things are going somewhere between them. ;)

Thank you for reading and reviewing! Your comments are much appreciated.

* * *

 **EStrunk -** Sorry to have made you hungry! :D I hope this one keeps you more satisfied. Anyway, I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter. And I admit I enjoyed writing the bit about her ankle as well! :)

 **Jo -** Glad to hear that! :)

 **Anon -** Great if I managed to make her thoughts clearer! Perhaps this chapter will help in that regard even more, as it is rather heavy with her POV. I would say she has never really thought about having a family enough to dismiss it, but maybe she's now starting to think about many things she has ignored until now.

The friendship certainly seems to be growing!

 **sai19 -** Yes, while a quick romance can be enjoyable sometimes, slowly developed relationship is usually more substantial. And with two characters from such different backgrounds and world views, it surely is preferable to work their attachment slowly so that it becomes more natural.

 **Luckylily -** I'm glad you like it! :)

 **Wondereye -** It might be interesting for them both, yes!

 **Nerdanel -** Is he ever? :D I'm not sure he is very subtle about his emotions, whatever the case may be! And it may be better for him to stay as far from Ivriniel as he can! :D

 **Doranwen -** We'll see how safe it is! ;) You are quite correct - reunions and reactions should be very interesting! But we'll get there in time.

 **Wtiger5 -** I'm glad you decided to give the story a chance! I know it's a bold setting and there are people who dislike those, but where's the fun in rejecting a storyline that I find entertaining?

 **Guest -** Thank you!

 **Merakia -** Oh, they definitely aren't making similar way as Aragorn and his friends. The way for Éomer and Lothíriel here is much shorter, they aren't running as fast, and they take plenty of breaks.

Anyway, I'm glad you like their conversations! Those are very enjoyable to write as well. :) There's not as much Éomer's POV in this chapter as in the earlier one, but I hope you enjoyed those bits anyway.

I know my comma usage with dialogue is a matter of some dispute, but the way I'm using it generally is how it's in my own language, and early on I figured out I'd better stick to one system than switch between two, lest I end up forgetting which one is which! I hope it doesn't bother you too much. In any case, thank you for your comments!

 **Brandir -** I considered that, but there are actually plenty of reasons he is not judging her at face value. He notes that as a younger and more hot-headed man, he would indeed react strongly. But at this point, he's a man who has survived the War of the Ring and gone through a year of kingship. These experiences have taught him a lot about life and world and things beyond the borders of Rohan. He knows things aren't always black and white, that he can't judge things outside his own realm just like so, and as a king he has already learned that in this position, he may have to do things and make decisions that don't fit in a tight criteria of right and wrong, and truth and false. And like he notes back at the ship, he knows he _needs_ to survive this ordeal no matter what it takes. Rohan needs him to stay alive.

And there's the fact Lothíriel has already saved his life and continues to help him at her own expense. She is struggling to get him through this and putting her own life in line. Éomer is not blind to this, nor to what it implies about _her_. I imagine he also thinks it would be dishonest and hypocritical of him to get pissed at her actions while he is benefiting from it all. Like he thinks to himself, she may be ruthless and use methods he never would, she's not deploying them to similar ends as Wormtongue. Considering Wormtongue was a hated enemy of his, Éomer indeed does feel strongly about him, but he also has a very good understanding of said man's character. It's good enough he knows she's not like Wormtongue at all.

And as a keen judge of character, he's also wondering if falsehood is actually natural to her, or if it's something she has learned. Plus, don't forget she's still very young - Éomer sees that and is cutting her some slack, because should children be held responsible for what their parents and caretakers have told them all their lives? Especially when they may be able and willing to learn elsewise?

This all ties in with threads of characterization and relationship building I mean to explore further, so I don't want to spoil that bit too much, but let's just say these are indeed questions that will come up again in the story.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Early morning dawned with soft sunlight.

Lothíriel had heard rain during the night, but it had passed before sunrise, making way to a fair new morn. There was a silence in the air, as though all the world had quieted down with the rain. Surely there was a powerful sense of peace to the vision that greeted him in the main chamber.

There was something incredibly calming about the sight of a fierce warrior sleeping. It made one believe all was well enough in the world, so that even one like him could rest. Éomer slept still on the sofa, one hand tucked under his head and the other resting on his stomach. Eyelashes fluttered softly against skin, signalling light sleep that would soon break. But while she stood quietly and leaned her shoulder against the door frame, he remained ignorant of being watched.

She let out a small sigh and thought about last night, when she had heard him rushing out, and then finding him trying to get a hold of himself after what had to be a vivid nightmare. It actually made her feel bad about herself. There she went in the darkness, lying and deceiving and using dirty tricks to get her way… but this man put himself in line, honest and true, no matter the scars he got in the process.

Abruptly she felt it: she wanted to be as _good_ as him. And she wanted to look at her own deeds and not wonder if she should be ashamed.

 _You show the world that decency is a choice anyone can and should make._ So she had said to him, putting at last into words what had been growing in her mind since the moment they had first met. But did this statement have any value if she did not try to follow it? If it was just something she said to fill the silence? Well, she thought it had meant something to Éomer. Yet it could just become another of her lies, if she did not at least try to follow her own advice. While Aunt had taught her many things, Father too had given her some lessons: _do not expect others to take the hard road if you yourself are not ready to step on it._

The sleeping horselord sighed and stirred and she moved away abruptly; she didn't think anyone would be comfortable waking up and finding someone staring at them. Lothíriel busied herself with digging through the contents of the food basket and tried to ignore how very aware of him she was – how his presence was like electricity to make hair at the back of her neck stand up.

"Good morning", Éomer said and let out a mighty yawn.

"Good morning", Lothíriel said and glanced at him over her shoulder. Instantly she felt despair at the warm, sleepy smile he gave her and she quickly looked away. A part of her would have liked to walk over, give him a good shake and yell: " _stop being like that!"_

But that would be quite absurd, and then Éomer would deem she was touched in the head. Well, he might even be right about that. Such notion surely seemed likely, considering the thoughts that now raced through her mind: why couldn't he be club-footed, or hate women, or be snide and prideful? Or, why did Amrothos have to drag him to that tavern, thus causing him to get caught and forcing her to find out how hard it was for her to be around him and keep her own thoughts under control? If Éomer had just returned to her father's palace safely that night, she would not be here now, trying to fight something dangerous that grew every moment she was exposed to the Rohir…

"Is everything all right?" he asked, and she became aware he was standing right next to her. She shivered, anxious at the way he towered and how it seemed as though warmth was flowing from him like waves to pull her in…

"Yes, yes, all is well", she said a little restlessly. "The rain kept me awake."

The lie stung more than usual, no doubt at least partly because of her thoughts before. Elbereth, she wasn't starting this morning very well, was she? From the corner of her eye, she saw Éomer frowning. Perhaps he knew she wasn't being truthful, and at once she wished she could kick herself. Lying straight to his face was not going to be a good idea, because he already seemed to have an alarmingly good grasp on when she was being dishonest. And if he began to doubt just how much he could trust her, then days and nights stuck together could get very awkward.

So she turned to give him a slight smile.

"Don't worry. It's just the strain of this past week, you see?" she offered him. Well, that at least was true.

Éomer's expression softened.

"Of course. Please forgive me – I know you are working hard to help me", he offered with an apologetic nod of his head, and once more she felt that guilty stab in the region of her chest. Why did he have to be like this when she didn't deserve his courtesy?

"It's nothing", she dismissed it swiftly.

He hesitated for a bit, and she could tell there was still something he wanted to say. He cleared his throat and spoke again.

"Lothíriel… I wanted to thank you for what you said last night. It was a great comfort. I never thought to become a king, and I often wonder if my efforts are enough. So, it's… it's good to know at least someone thinks I'm doing something right", he said to her, and Lothíriel's heart ached for the knowledge that to him, her opinion meant this much.

It was odd, really – to be a source of comfort and companionship to someone who wasn't family. To be able to offer support and a helping hand, not pass among others unseen like a shadow and use them to her own ends… and have her aid accepted so sincerely, like she was worth something as a comrade.

Her throat felt tight and she looked away. The words she spoke next were delivered less confidently than anything she had told him so far, but it was also the sincerest, most personal thing she had ever said to anyone who wasn't her kin.

"... thank you as well, Éomer. The faith you have in me is truly humbling", she said softly. Each word felt like it might get stuck in her mouth, yet somehow she was able to utter this out loud. She made the mistake of peering at him from the corner of her eye and saw the smile on his face.

In that moment, he was so bright and warm and inviting that she nearly forgot how to breathe.

* * *

Lothíriel was acting strange.

Not long after she had mumbled her own thanks to him, she had announced she needed to go and get them some water, and then hastened out in a way that implied they were both dying of thirst.

Éomer watched her go and wondered what was wrong. He had rather assumed that after the conversation last night, things might be… well, he had not thought she would be so awkward with him. Unpleasant idea took form: maybe she regretted saying those things. Maybe she felt it had been crossing some kind of a line.

He rubbed the back of his head. Had he been too overbearing? Éowyn sometimes said he had a way of coming too strongly at people. But Lothíriel wasn't like most people, and so it was easy to forget what was generally considered as propriety in Gondor. Not to mention, their circumstances hardly made normal interaction possible.

The Rohir sighed and decided to start making some breakfast. But his mind was only half in it, for the events of last night were close to his thoughts. Waking up to the nightmare, Lothíriel joining him, and her soft voice as she spoke his praise… for someone referring to herself as some kind of a spider, she surely seemed to have a very good understanding of what a king's duty ought to be.

Éomer frowned to himself. He had wondered before if the deceptions were in fact a natural part of her, or something learned. Now that question expanded: what would have become of her if her training had been to achieve other things? A diplomat, a politician, maybe a ruler, even…

He shook his head and noted two important things: first, he was getting way out of line here, and secondly, it was not his place to question her life choices. Just because she had not, according to her own word, thought much about what she wanted out of her life, it didn't mean this shadowy business didn't make her perfectly happy.

He tried to focus on the food again, pushing other thoughts of his mind the best he could. But soon enough other ideas came, and they had to do with the fact this was to be the second day he would be sitting here like some sort of fragile antique piece that must be kept away from harm. Would Lothíriel approve of him going out to catch some fresh air and maybe have a walk? Probably not. However, he wasn't sure if he could stand the closed walls for yet another day.

So the day would probably have gone, trying his patience and nerves. Only, it happened Lothíriel returned that moment with something unexpected to announce; her bucket was empty and her eyes alarmed as she stepped into the apartment.

"I think someone was following me."

* * *

She had left the apartment swiftly, with her head in a turmoil that was not going to calm down as long as Éomer was anywhere close. Elbereth! This was only getting worse and worse! And there was no release in sight, no promise of when help would come and she would be able to get her sorry self away from his dangerous proximity. And yet, as long as they were waiting for a ship to take them to Dol Amroth, she could neither leave him or tell him what was the matter.

Because one thing was clear: she had no business having _feelings_ for King Éomer of Rohan. It just couldn't happen.

Her mind was hardly in the task of getting them some water. Instead, she went over the events of past few days once again, and wondered what could she do to stop this thing before it got even worse. But she couldn't come up with anything particularly useful, and her thoughts were disjointed and confused. It was one damned tangle: her duties to Dol Amroth and the task at hand, Aunt's teachings and expectations, Éomer's friendly smiles and disarming sincerity, and the obvious fact of how very foolish and out of her depth she was.

With her head so high up in the clouds, it was no wonder that she did not realise she was being followed until after she had filled her bucket and cast a look about herself. It was one of those things Aunt had taught her to do as a second nature, to be wary of her surroundings at all times, and thus her eyes briefly fell on the face of one of the corsairs from Dagalur's crew. She recalled seeing him with Shanum's company back at the ship. And he was watching her in a way that left nothing to imagination.

She refrained from muttering a curse, but inside her head, she was fast reproaching herself. Being spotted was always her own mistake; it meant she hadn't been careful enough or paid proper attention to her disguise. The reason was all too clear, and all too embarrassing.

Lothíriel wiped a hand across her face and stood a while, as though a common woman taking a moment to just breathe in the middle of her chores. With her eyes she searched the corridors and paths leading away from the little market about the well, deliberating which way should be the best for making her escape and shake off the man following her. Was the safe house compromised? It did not seem likely – they had been too careful and the corsairs had not been long enough in the city to flush them out. It should be still secure to stay there, provided that she was able to get rid of the villain following her. This might help the pirates narrowing down the area they needed to search, but on the other hand there was only so much they could do on enemy territory.

So she began to walk, keeping her pace even and calm, though the feeling of being watched and followed made her skin crawl. Instinct told her to run and disappear for good, and how easy would it have been, if not for the horselord she couldn't let die! She needed to get back to him and make sure he was safe.

Lothíriel reached one narrow corridor and now hastened her step. She had recalled correctly: another, even smaller pathway, opened steeply to the right less than seven feet away. Now she emptied the bucket and hang it on her shoulder as she hurried forward. She threw a quick glance back the way she had come and saw the figure following, half running to keep up with her.

Serpents of the sea could be formidable opponents when water was close, but now they were in the world of spiders, and she was well taught in the art of disappearing. A few randomly chosen turns took her away from the general direction of the safe house, snatched a frayed piece of linen from an open window where it had been left to air, and then she reached a busy little street with several shops open to business. There was enough of a crowd for her to use as a shield and distraction. Next to an apothecary, she put down her bucket upside down, took seat on it and covered her head with the piece of linen. One might think she was a perfectly ordinary beggar. People around her paid little attention, and wryly she thought of something Aunt had once said: " _The greatest enabler of our trade is the supreme indifference of city people."_

After some ten minutes and not seeing the man's face again, Lothíriel decided she had been able to lose him on the streets and it was safe to go back to Éomer now. She returned the makeshift veil she had "borrowed" to the same window and almost got a chamberpot emptied on her head, along with a string of insults that even made her cheeks burn a little bit.

But this little sojourn did not distract her from the important thing: the pirates were in the city, they had no intention of giving up the chase, and they were competent enough to have already discovered her on the streets.

Éomer was not going to like this at all.

* * *

While Éomer had expected they would be seeing or hearing about the corsairs again, he was still worried by Lothíriel's tidings upon her return. Quickly she explained how she had been spotted, and her attempts to lose the man following her. She delivered the report efficiently, like one who is very much used to it; idly he thought some of his men might do well to learn from her in that regard. He assumed it was because of her aunt.

The way he often did in his own council chamber, Éomer paced in their hideout while she explained what had happened and he interrogated her further. Had she seen others out there? Was she sure this one man had been the only one following her? And quite importantly, why had she let the man go? Now he might return to his crew and tell them he had seen her.

"Well, I couldn't just go and snatch him up in broad daylight. I didn't know if he had friends nearby, so taking him out was not an option, either. I can't engage when I have no idea what I'm up against", Lothíriel said defensively. He grunted and had to agree she had a point, though he did not like the idea of this pirate having sighted her.

"And anyway", she continued, "I think they never had any doubt of us flying right here. It was always the obvious destination both for us and for them. They still needed to do repairs on their ship."

"I suppose you are right", Éomer allowed at length and took seat opposite her by the table. He looked at her straight, "Are you certain there were no others? Is it possible you were followed all the way here?"

"No, I don't think so. I was very careful on my way back", she reassured him. She then leaned forward, "What do you suppose we should do?"

He thought about it for a minute. Yes, they could stay right here and not move a muscle while they waited for Imrahil's Swan Knights to arrive. However, he had a strong feeling it would drive them both mad sooner or later. Just sitting here and waiting was a truly loathsome idea. But maybe there was something they could do while they waited… some way they might make their time mean something.

Éomer looked at his companion again.

"Say, what do you think these pirates will do when they see one of your father's warships entering the port, and Swan Knights overcome the place?" he asked her. Makings of a plan were already forming in his mind.

"I think they will get very nervous. They might abandon their ship and try to get back to Southron lands by foot. And they could think of splitting up, so that it's harder to catch them", she mused, confirming what he had already surmised.

"And your father? What would he say about going through all this trouble without managing to catch any of them… especially whoever is leading the sorry lot?" he pressed on.

"Most displeased, I would say", Lothíriel replied. She frowned and tapped her chin with her index finger, "And as far as politics go, it would be a blow to him. It would be better for the dignity of Dol Amroth if he were able to show our king that some punishment is distributed."

Éomer nodded; similar idea had occurred to him. And if at least a few of them could be caught, it would be easier for him as well to appease to his countrymen, to let them see that the matter had been dealt with appropriately. Rohan did not need another war right now, but in their righteous anger, Rohirrim might forget it.

"Indeed. And if I may say so, I think this goal is easier to achieve if we apply some of your tactics into this situation, Lothíriel, instead of waiting for Swan Knights to arrive and turn everything upside down", he stated and gave her a smile. "How would you feel about setting a trap?"

A silence fell. For once in her life, Lothíriel seemed to be utterly astonished and unsure of how to react. But Éomer met her wide eyes expectantly and let her work through the shock. Well, he could see how it would take her by surprise, him approving and even suggesting they take her perspective to this thing.

"What do you mean?" she asked at length, stammering the words and still looking at him in confusion.

"I was just wondering if we might do some hunting of our own. We still have the advantage – they don't know your father's knights are coming. And we have the perfect bait", said the Rohir. Eagerness for action rose within, to go and give the villains what was due, but he reined it in. He couldn't be stupid about this, no matter how anxious it made him to sit inside four walls. For if Lothíriel agreed to his idea, it would require a great deal of cunning and stealth.

She narrowed her eyes.

"I'm not sure I'm supposed to let you act as a bait", she said warily, having already guessed what he meant.

"I'm afraid only one person gets to fuss over my safety and that is Éothain. You know just as I do that things don't get done if you just sit tight behind a locked door", Éomer said calmly. "Might you feel better about it if I asked for your help as a king in need?"

She huffed as an answer.

"Well, I guess I can tell Father you gave me a royal order, or something", she said at length and looked at him from under her eyebrows. "But you may rest assured Aunt would never comply, king or not."

"Then it's a good thing I'm with you and not her, isn't it?" Éomer pointed out. He was smiling, and thought maybe his observation would amuse her, too. But the look he saw on her face was odd, solemn and even a little melancholy. It seemed as though she was right back to her earlier strange mood.

But suddenly she shook her head, like she was trying to rid herself of some unpleasant thought, and she looked at him with a stark expression once more.

"You bet it's a good thing", Lothíriel said and considered him keenly. "But tell me, what makes you willing to use my tactics now?"

Her question took him aback, and Éomer did not know at first what to say. Well, it was a very good question. How to put it into words? How to explain the painful lesson of being a king, the dawning of understanding that world was not all black and white, and that good and evil often intertwined in ways that left one with nothing but hard, painful choices? As a younger man, he had been uncompromising about his ideals – even ignoring the way one man's right could be another's wrong.

Things were not always what they seemed and sometimes, spiders could be good. And a king had to regard and act in the world as it was, not as he wanted it to be.

"Because… there are some things you can't just charge through with a full éored behind you", he said eventually, speaking softly but not uncertainly. He frowned and shook his head, "But we must ensure justice is done. I do not propose going after these pirates to slay them one by one. I want to bring them to face the laws of Men."

She looked at him seriously.

"Then that is what we will do."

* * *

So they began their planning, and soon enough Éomer found himself more or less cheered up by it, however odd that was. But then, he had never feared danger; it was familiar to him and he was used to dealing with it. Making plans and building strategies was something he knew well from years of serving the Mark.

One thing to figure out was their target.

"Obviously, we cannot catch and imprison the whole crew. But that may not be necessary. I would go for their leader… without someone to tell them what to do, they won't be much of a menace", Éomer said, idly smoothing down his beard, which had grown rather longer than usual.

"But who is leading them now? Is the captain still alive?" asked Lothíriel. She sat with one leg propped up on the edge of her seat, looking perfectly unladylike.

"Would that I knew. But if he is, I don't think he will be easily caught. He seemed like he was the most level-headed of them, and after you already deceived him once, he will know to be careful. He won't be trapped again, if he can avoid it", Éomer said and leaned his elbows against the surface of the table. He looked at his companion, "You spent some time with the crew. Who do you think would take the captain's place, if he is gone?"

She didn't need to consider it for long.

"I would say this Shanum, the one with the Black Serpent on his tunic, is the most likely to assume leadership. I'm not sure what his position on the ship was, but other crew members seemed to respect him. He was smart enough to see through my disguise, so it seems likely he could get the rest of them following himself", she answered. Narrowing her eyes, she added, "I get the feeling he's not as cool and collected as the captain. He reacts more emotionally, and that can be used against him. I have a feeling he is vengeful, too."

"Hmm", Éomer made a sound in agreement and considered his hands on the table. "Would that we got eyes on that ship."

"I can go tomorrow to the harbour and sniff around a bit. They will have had to land in the port, if they want to fix the damages and not risk the stream carrying the ship away", said Lothíriel. With a faint smile, she went on, "I think you should go outside tomorrow and make an appearance, too. Maybe show a bit of your face as well. Who knows? Whispers might reach their ears, and we want to keep them on the hook."

"Aye, that could be a good idea", said the Rohir, and not just because he was desperate for some fresh air. "After the stunts you pulled back at the ship, they need something solid. They won't go chasing after ghosts. But if one of them got a glimpse of me…"

"... then they might abandon caution and give us an opening", she finished his thought. She smiled brightly at him and leaned forward on her seat. "I like how you think, Sire."

He flashed her a smile.

"Indeed? Well, I hope that means I've finally found someone who is glad to endorse my deranged ideas", he quipped back.

Her grey eyes glittered as she returned his smile. In that moment, he knew there was so much more light in her than there was darkness. And it was quite clear to him which one he wanted to overcome the other.

"Don't you know?" asked Lothíriel, full of mirth for their banter. "I _love_ deranged ideas."

* * *

They stayed up late, shaping and perfecting their plans. A lot depended on whether the corsairs would take the bait, of course, but Lothíriel was hopeful. Éomer _was_ quite the prize still, and after the disaster back at the river, the villains would want retribution. Especially if their captain had drowned indeed. She decided to trust his instinct on that.

Eventually, he told her to go and get some sleep, and seeing it was already very late, she complied. After bidding him good night, Lothíriel retired to the bedchamber. She had a quick wash before crawling under the blankets.

But sleep didn't come easily. There was too much in her mind – expectations and hopes for how their plans would go, wondering what would happen once Father's men got here, and what Aunt would say about all this… and for each of those thoughts there was also one about Éomer. What would he say about this or that, how he'd handle the issue of returning to Dol Amroth, and whether he'd want to meet Lady Ivriniel.

She groaned when she realized what was happening. The man was inside her head, settling down and redecorating in mad glee like a particularly demented hobbit who has found a very nice hole in the ground. And it was getting harder and harder to keep him out.

Lothíriel got up around midnight. Not a single moment of sleep had yet come to her yet and her heart was anxious. Perhaps it was only fitting that tonight, she would be the one to lack peaceful sleep.

The idea occurring to her was stupid, she didn't deny that. But nothing else helped, so maybe… maybe just looking at him for a bit would calm her down. Because that was what Éomer did: he reassured her. With him, she felt like she could conquer the world... or take down a crew of vengeful pirates.

She did not find him sleeping. In the main room, the King of Rohan was seated by the window, staring out and looking as sleepless as she felt. Once again the silver sheen of the moon was on him, but now he did not seem troubled or in pain. There was merely the watchfulness of one who is well-adjusted to crisis and danger. Abruptly she felt safe in a very unexpected way.

He turned to look at her when she came. She noted his eyes were pitch black in this light. Black... but not _dark._

"What is it?" Éomer asked quietly in that voice one would instinctively reserve for the still hours of the night.

"Nothing. I couldn't sleep", she replied, pulling a blanket closer around her shoulders.

"I know that feeling well. I rarely can sleep when I know there will be battle", he said quietly.

"You think that's what is going to happen?" she asked him, halting to stand beside him. She clutched the edge of the blanket just to keep her hand from reaching to him.

"I don't know", Éomer admitted. "But at this point it would be foolish not to be wary."

He tilted his head then and looked at her with narrowed eyes. Before she could say anything, he asked her, "Is that what your life is always like, Lothíriel?"

She didn't know what to answer. To tell him the truth was to admit some things she may not be ready to confess, and yet to lie… when she met his eyes, she knew she could not speak untruths to him. He would see right through her… and she would hate herself.

"Not always", she whispered, clutching her blanket so that her knuckles were white. "Not now."

He looked very solemn as he met her gaze. In his eyes there was an ocean, and she was about to fall.

"I should get back to bed", she stated loudly before the man could say anything more to confuse her mind further. She gave a clumsy pat to his shoulder and added, "And you should try to get some sleep, too."

"... good night, Lothíriel."

Had anyone ever spoken her name like he did?

"Good night, Éomer."

And had she ever uttered a man's name like this?

 _Oh, Elbereth…_

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** This was another difficult chapter to write. At the start, I had hard time getting inside their heads and writing down anything that sounded plausible. But I hope it reads reasonably well, and their thoughts don't come across as fake! At least, I think I was able to sneak in some pretty good moments. Overall, I hope this did things to develop their relationship further.

Personally, I very much liked that last late night scene from her POV. I think it was fitting for her to have a kind of vulnerable moment just as he had in the previous chapter. I hope you enjoyed it!

Thank you for reading and reviewing! Don't hesitate to leave a comment - it could be more helpful than you know!

* * *

 **Doranwen -** I'm glad you liked their conversations! They were great to write as well. :) I hope you enjoy the talks in this one, too! Also maybe they are better equipped for this danger than one might expect. :)

 **Anon -** Yes, I have to admit it's quite delicious being in her head for multiple reasons actually. Also you make a very good point about their late night conversation. It may be more meaningful for them than I had even realised at the time of writing it!

 **EStrunk -** Well, they may just make use of it! Also I admit I do enjoy a flustered Lothíriel. :D We'll see how this goes with her and Ivriniel!

 **Thalia -** I am glad to hear that!

 **Serni -** Thank you very much! I am happy to hear you enjoy my stories. I do hope you will continue to enjoy this tale. I admit I also enjoy this version of Lothíriel, because it allows me such a different perspective to them both!

 **Merakia -** Happy to hear you liked it! I did enjoy it as well. :) But I would imagine this pair is very capable of dealing with menaces!


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

In the morning she dressed like a boy again.

This time, it was with different pieces of clothing: now she took the appearance of a lad of some noble but impoverished house, arrayed in a tunic that had been fashionable a decade ago. The hat she chose from the ancient cupboard was a little less conspicuous than the last time, though she was thinking she would soon need a haircut if she meant to fool anybody.

Éomer seemed to have misgivings, though.

"Why do you dress as a lad so often?" he asked her. He was seated by the table and was watching her as she arrayed her neatly braided hair under the hat.

"Well, it is an unfortunate fact of our world that boys go unnoticed more often than girls. A lass of Dol Amroth would not have boarded that damned ship without some very unfortunate consequences, after all", she pointed out.

He frowned and said nothing. Meanwhile, she was slipping her knife inside her boot.

"You know, Lothíriel…" he spoke suddenly, making her look up at him again, "If something happened to you because of me… I don't know how I could bear it."

Warmth burst in her breast, unexpected and strong. There he sat, staring at her with that unsettling sincerity… somewhere at the back of he mind, she thought she could hear Aunt preaching about foolish men and clueless women who paid heed to their pretty words, but her mentor's words were such a pale thing compared to what this horselord had just told her. Yes, her father and brothers occasionally showed concern for her, but this… this was different.

Éomer was different.

 _You have a job to do,_ Lothíriel reminded herself, _and it is not ogling at a horselord who is indulging your fantasies._

"Don't you worry about me", she told him briskly, even managing a smile. "I am very good at this. They'll never know I'm there. It's _yourself_ you should be concerned about, Éomer."

He frowned again.

"Well, if it comes to that, they'll know what is what. Drugs will be of no use to them this time", he stated quietly, but with a grim edge to his voice. She didn't doubt him one bit.

"Just be careful?" she said, nevertheless. Truth was, she _needed_ to see him safe and sound before this day ended. Because it went the other way, too: she wouldn't be able to bear it if _he_ got hurt because of _her._

The Rohir gave her a lopsided smile.

"Always, my lady."

* * *

The cloak she had given him was not his size. Éomer surmised it was a part of some disguise Lothíriel's aunt had prepared, but though the woman evidently thought of a vast variety of possible situations and how to deal with them, it appeared she had not foreseen that her student would be aiding a man of Rohan. So the alternatives for disguises were not many, and the cloak Lothíriel had given to him was tight around the shoulders and fell barely above his knees. He feared it might burst if he were to move his arms too much.

Éomer reminded himself it wasn't supposed to conceal him perfectly. He was to make an appearance, and hopefully send a rumour the right way. If his cloak was ill-fitting, that should only be helpful. But he was used to dealing with problems more straightforwardly, so it was only inevitable he would feel some discomfort.

At any rate, he was on the edge the moment he stepped outside the safe house. He knew the pirates would not be outside, lying in wait; the anxiety was merely the result of his mind. The Rohir felt exposed without the protective layers of his gear. Instinctively his hand went to the pommel of the captain's sword. He still didn't like the way it felt in his grasp, and he'd be so much more comfortable with his own Gúthwinë, but he needed to make do with what was available. This weapon was as good as any while their adventure lasted.

Fresh air felt good, though, and it calmed him a little. Despite the circumstances it was a welcome change to be able to stretch his legs a bit and get out of those four walls. Lothíriel had already gone to snoop around in the harbour. Without him to slow her down, she had left so quickly it was almost like she had just vanished into thin air. He knew he needn't worry about her. She could handle herself and would be careful, now that they knew the corsairs were trying to find them.

Even so, he couldn't dismiss a small twinge in his chest. What if something happened and he wasn't there to help out? Could he be at ease until she joined him again?

Realising how out of control his thoughts were getting, Éomer shook his head and tried to focus again. Lothíriel didn't need him to fuss over her; he would do well to mind _himself_ right now. Not paying attention would achieve nothing but getting lost, and she had better things to do than search half the city for him.

He began to move again, more alert to his surroundings now. Under the cover of his ill-fitting cloak he kept his hand on the sword, ready to put it to use. While Pelargir wasn't technically hostile ground, he still felt like something was waiting for him in the shadows, ready to fulfil the perilous fate he had narrowly escaped so far. But he was here to be seen, not to start a blood path. Hopefully, local shady types would appreciate that as well – even if a part of him would surely have enjoyed some action.

His walk more or less confirmed what he had first perceived the night they had arrived. Pelargir had fallen from glory and the signs of decay were clear in ways he hadn't perceived in Minas Tirith or Dol Amroth. Then again, the latter was a part of Imrahil's rich princedom and there the shadow of Mordor had not reached. Wryly he thought of how the family of Imrahil had created some shadows of their own. What did the man think of it, and more precisely, how much did he even know about what his youngest child did? Could he say he knew her as well as fathers normally knew their daughters?

Once more Éomer shook his head and tried to clear his mind. It didn't surprise him that thoughts of her had almost distracted him again. He really needed to get a grip.

Lothíriel had told him how to get to the port, but he did not go all the way there. He didn't want to try his luck, nor do anything that might cause her to be noticed. Even so, it seemed like a reasonable assumption the pirates and their crew watched the area close to the river.

He found a little market place and there took a moment to inspect the stalls, not out of wanting to buy anything but merely to be seen – though he did purchase a few apples to leave some kind of an impression that would hopefully spawn a few rumours. He even went as far as pushing back his hood for a bit, thus letting all the world know that a Rohir was indeed to be found in this city. He got a few curious looks and it was no wonder that he did. Rohirrim rarely came this far south, especially those who were not on King's business. And while a lot of things might be said about the corsairs, their leaders were not foolish men. Lothíriel had said she had suggested seeking the help of the local villainous types in order to contain their prisoner, and there was no reason they might take the idea and instead use it to get eyes in the city.

The lack of cover made his skin crawl. How naked and helpless he felt without his armour and weapons! How limited his view here on the ground, when he didn't have Firefoot's additional height! It was almost a crippling sensation in some ways. Though he was uncomfortable, Éomer tried to remain as relaxed as he could – even as he occasionally scanned his surroundings and kept his hand ready on the sword.

But in the end, his paranoia and anxiety proved to be in vain. He could spot no corsairs around the market, which was probably a good thing for now: he wasn't as swift and stealthy as Lothíriel, and he would have had harder time getting rid of pursuers. Not to mention, it was not some common member of the crew he wanted to catch, but the captain himself or whoever would be leading in his stead. But hopefully, his appearance would reach the ears of his enemies. If all went according to his hopes, they would come looking for him.

This time, they would not be facing an unconscious man.

He was back at the safe house sooner than he would have liked. Well, it was something of a contradictory feeling. On one hand, he had been on the edge from the moment he had stepped outside. On the other, return meant being inside four walls again, and it was unlikely Lothíriel had yet come back. A part of him would surely have liked to wait her here, or maybe go and seek her. But to start changing the plans just to suit his own impatient self was not something anyone who fancied themselves a seasoned warrior would do, and she would hardly appreciate him potentially compromising her attempts. He had to wait.

He passed the time until her return by going through some simple exercises, hoping it would take away the edge from his anxiety. When he heard movement behind the door of the safe house, he tensed and stood ready in case corsairs stormed inside, but relief took the place of preparation when his companion slipped inside. She was back and he could be at ease once more.

"Everything all right?" Éomer asked. He was a little surprised to realise his hand had risen up from his side, as though to reach for her. He quickly put it back down again.

"Yes, yes. All is well", she replied and took off the hat covering her braided hair. She tossed it on the chair as though it had been bothering her.

"Did you find out anything useful?" he wanted to know as he poured her some water to drink. She accepted the cup with soft thanks and a smile. He was answering the smile before he even knew it.

"I did find their ship in the port", said Lothíriel as she took seat. "They were making repairs, but it's going to be a few days at least before it's seaworthy again. I couldn't get as close as I would have liked, though. But even then, I didn't see Captain Dagalur on the deck. That Shanum was there, however, and he was flaunting himself in a way that implies he has taken over the leadership."

"If that is the case, he is new to the position. He may be overconfident", Éomer mused, rubbing his chin in thought. So it was as he had thought: the captain had drowned indeed. If that was the case, the crew might want avenge their fallen leader... and they would not hesitate to kill her.

"And he hates you very much. He will come looking for you, I'm sure of it", Lothíriel said steadily. The Rohir made a low sound in agreement. It was clear to him now how deep vengeance ran for this man. With Théoden gone, his heir was the next best thing to one who was so devoted to the Black Serpent.

"How soon do you think they'll be on the move?" he wondered out loud.

She shrugged.

"How quickly can a rumour travel in Pelargir?"

* * *

They waited till sundown. It was not likely corsairs would come looking for their prize while the common city folk went about their daily labours. Éomer wondered whether his earlier appearance had been enough to get the attention of their enemy. But Lothíriel did not seem concerned when she pointed out: "Well, they found _me,_ and I like to think I blend in a little better than you do."

He could not deny that. In these parts, a tall blond man would stand out like a sore thumb. So he hoped.

They ventured out again after going through their scheme one more time. She would follow him from the shadows and keep an eye for those they were hoping to lure in. Narrow corridors and maze-like paths of Pelargir would aid him – they wouldn't get to him easily, but alone or in pairs. And they wouldn't know about the spider on his shoulder. She surely looked the part, wearing a form-fitting array made of dark, nondescript fabric that would help her to hide from searching eyes of their enemy.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Éomer asked her, just to make certain. Not that he doubted her somehow, but she had already done so much for him, and at this point her endangering herself had to be against her aunt's instructions. At least, this he assumed from all she had already told him about the woman.

But Lothíriel smiled brightly and reached to pat his arm.

"Absolutely. It will be fun", she said and looked like she sincerely thought so.

The Rohir reached his hand and rested it on her shoulder, wiry and strong. She did not shy away from his touch, which somehow consoled him.

"Promise to be careful?" Éomer asked one more time, meeting her eyes solemnly. She stared right back at him and her grey eyes were fearless and calm. Would that someone like her would always be standing by his side!

Lothíriel reached for him as well, settling her own hand against his bicep in a grasp that was… well, not like a warrior's greeting, really. To be honest he wasn't sure _what_ it was exactly.

"Of course. You just worry about yourself, horsemaster", she said with a smile. The word almost sounded like a term of endearment coming from her mouth.

Not sure he could trust his voice, Éomer just nodded and let go of her shoulder. Lothíriel let go of him as well, but the spot she had touched still tingled with the sensation of her hand's weight and grip. She gazed at him for a moment as though she was looking for something, but then she shook her head and slipped away. For whatever reason, he felt suddenly very lonely.

 _Focus, you fool,_ he told himself briskly. _Now is not the time to get confused._

Éomer began to walk. His first destination was the market he had visited earlier today: it was a logical place for the corsairs to start their searches. He kept his pace steady and measured. If they meant to lure out the prey, he could not make haste – he had to appear as though he was a feasible target. Briefly he wondered what Éothain would say about his king using himself as bait, but decided not to dwell on that for long. It was a good thing his captain was not here to tell him he was being a reckless idiot.

Streets of the city were now quiet and only a few other people passed by him. In the deepening shadow, every corridor looked the same and houses loomed above, with windows glaring out like empty eyes. Here and there light shone out, signalling life that had not yet entirely abandoned this once great settlement of Men. In his chest his heart beat faster than usual, preparing him already for action, though he did not yet know if tonight would end in blood.

Éomer was not worried about getting lost as he walked and proceeded further into the narrow corridors of older part of the city. Lothíriel was following close by, though he did not see her; she would know how to get back to their safe house. Not to mention, it might give them advantage over the corsairs, if he was able to lead them astray, too.

Soon enough the echo of his steps was joined by another. It was not her, that much he knew. She was not one to make sound, accidental or not. There was almost unbearable urge to turn around and face whoever was following him, but Éomer kept his eyes ahead. Under his cloak, he was clutching the hilt of the sword. At the very least, he could expect they wouldn't shoot him in the back; he was no good to them dead. Vengeful Umbarian lords and tribesmen of Harad would not pay handsomely for damaged goods.

He still kept his pace even, as though he yet remained unsuspecting of the danger lurking behind. How many were there? There were more than one, but not as much as five, if his hearing served him right. But he did not take this for granted. There could be more ahead, lying in wait.

They would get bold soon, thinking he was alone and helpless. But they didn't know of the shadow tracing their steps, and this time, they would have to face him without aid of poisons. Though he was without a mount and his usual gear, he still had quite a few tricks up his sleeve.

He was ready to show these villains what it meant to invoke the wrath of a horselord.

* * *

It panned out about the way they had expected.

The corsairs must have been looking for Éomer already, as they latched on to his heels almost as soon as he left that little market. Lothíriel followed close by and saw there were six of them. Shanum was leading the bunch, much to her approval. She had guessed right: his lust for vengeance had lured him out. For a second she calculated the odds and decided they were not all bad. If Éomer found a narrow alley, as they had planned, it would help to take down all six. Well, Shanum would be left alive obviously, and maybe another to spare.

Lothíriel frowned when she saw the company do some plotting of their own: three of them raced ahead, while the remaining trio followed Éomer. So, they were meaning to set him a trap. But they would see how effective it was once she fell on them from behind. She only hoped she could have alarmed him somehow and let him know the enemy was before him as well as behind. Then again, Éomer had not been born yesterday. He may very well know to expect something like this without her warning him.

She had given him a rough description of where the narrow corridors would be most useful for them and he lead the course straight and true. The man really was quite efficient, Lothíriel mused to herself as she stalked the three corsairs. They were going a little faster now, impatient to get to their prey. But Éomer walked steadily. Only the tense set of his shoulders, glimpsed by her twice from afar, revealed his level of preparation. He was ready to pounce any second now.

He chose their battleground well. The alley was narrow and cluttered with various rubbish from half-rotten barrels to broken wheels of what had probably been a wagon; as such, only two of them could come at him at a time. There he halted, no longer just prey but assuming the role of the hunter once more.

"I know you are there", Éomer spoke in loud, steady voice. Lothíriel had never heard him use this tone but now that he did, she felt like she had some inkling as to why so many spoke his praise as a war chief.

Though they were companions, maybe even friends, a thought occurred to her now: this was one dangerous man.

The corsairs whispered anxiously between themselves, until Shanum lifted his voice in anger. Then at his signal, the three fell on the King of Rohan, and the trio he had sent ahead appeared at the other end of the alley. They approached fast. For a minute their voices rose in triumph, but it was briefly lived when Lothíriel engaged from behind, swiftly ending the life of one short man she had seen following Shanum around back at the ship. Éomer was not left idle either: he looked terrible and deadly and the corsairs must really want him to dare to face such an enemy.

The next few minutes were filled with the noise of steel clashing and curses uttered between the combatants. Shanum tried to press hard on the King of Rohan, but Éomer's defences were impenetrable. Meanwhile, Lothíriel delivered her own attacks in rapid stabs to push the trio closer against the mighty swings of the King's sword. Their strengths combined in a surprisingly effective way, and soon enough their enemies were in a state of disarray and panic.

Maybe it was going _too_ well. Lothíriel wasn't sure at first what went wrong, until she saw her parry failing. And then, before she could dodge Shanum's attack, a blade kissed her side. It cut something open and she felt blood running down as she fell, crying both in pain and surprise as she went down. She had never been hurt in action before.

Éomer heard it. He roared like a deranged bear – and fought like one, too. Lothíriel, lying in a heap on the ground, almost forgot about her injury when she watched him fall upon the attackers. She had never seen anyone battling like he did then, swift and fell and unstoppable. It took their pursuers by surprise and it was not long they could endure such a ferocious attack. They went running in less than minutes. Three of the company of six lay dead on the ground and rest sustained injuries of various degrees.

As Éomer rushed to her side, she became aware of a matter more worrisome than her injury: shouting and running feet were starting to approach somewhere closer than she would have liked. Either guards of the city had heard this racket, or someone had alarmed them. But it was no matter how they had got wind of it, because she could very well guess the consequences, if they found her and Éomer with three dead bodies. It didn't matter the corpses belonged to corsairs, and how would her father's Swan Knights ever find them if they were rotting in city prison? Who in this decayed city would believe that a ragged horselord and a wounded girl were the King of Rohan and Princess of Dol Amroth?

"Leave me! Get out of here!" she hissed to her companion as she pressed her hand against the wound, already trying to grasp at some kind of a plan. But her thoughts ran amok and bits and pieces of schemes fell apart as soon as she attempted to build it further.

Éomer was having none of it.

"I am not leaving you!" he growled back at her and in one quick motion, he picked her up. He didn't need to tell her to keep pressure on the wound. Lothíriel thought of yelling at him for a bit, and insisting she could manage this – she would come up with something as long as he was safe – but then he was already running and taking her away from the site of skirmish. It would be a waste of breath to tell him he was being stupid, endangering himself like this because of her.

Suddenly, something Aunt had once told her came back to Lothíriel: " _Do not trust men. Faced with choice between their own life and yours, they will surely choose to save their own skin and leave you to the wolves."_

Tonight, a man had chosen _her_ life over his own safety. And she had no idea of what to do with that knowledge.

After getting some distance between themselves and the guards looking for culprits, Éomer halted and lowered her gently to sit on the street, her back against the wall of a particularly ramshackle building.

"How badly are you hurt?" he asked her as he carefully pried her hand away from the wound to take a look at the injury. His face was twisted in concern and even in this dim light, she saw the strange fire in his eyes.

"It's a scratch", she managed, "felt worse than actually is."

"Hmm", he merely commented as he ripped a piece of fabric from his own shirt, which he offered to her. She didn't need to be told what to do with it.

"Let's get going. It won't be long before they search here, too", he muttered under his breath and picked her up again. Momentarily Lothíriel considered telling him she didn't need this, but on the other hand, it allowed her to focus on her injury, and he didn't seem to have difficulty in carrying her. So she pressed the piece of fabric against the wound and was glad to notice the bleeding was not very bad.

She let out a sigh and lowered her head to rest on his shoulder. If Aunt was wrong about that one thing… then how much of what she had told her was right after all?

* * *

Fortunately, they weren't that far away from the safe house, and so Éomer was able to get his injured companion there quickly. She didn't seem to be too badly hurt – she remained conscious and clear, pressing the fabric from his shirt against her wound and giving him directions. Without her, he would not have found his way back.

Once inside, he seated her by the table and rummaged through the cupboard, until he found some clean linen. He had first noticed it when he had searched the shelves for anything useful. That such supply was here didn't surprise him anymore. Apparently, Lady Ivriniel thought about everything.

When he had some hot water, clean rags and linen to dress the wound, he sat down next to her. He was no healer, but if an éored fell apart every time someone got hurt with such smaller injuries, Rohan would have ceased to exist long before his day.

"Let me see it", he commanded in a firm but gentle voice. Lothíriel uncovered her injury and lifted the hem of her shirt to reveal her side, where the shallow gash shot across otherwise smooth, pale skin. Luckily, the bleeding had almost stopped.

"I told you it was just a scratch", Lothíriel said gently when he began to clean the wound.

Éomer scoffed under his breath.

"You should see what some of my men have tried to pass as scratches before they fell unconscious from their saddles", he told her grimly. When he had heard her cry out… for a second, he had thought she had taken a fatal injury.

"That is what clinging stubbornly to your pride will get you", she said, sounding unconcerned. But her light tone changed at once when she continued to speak, "I'm sorry. I ruined everything. We almost had him… if I hadn't get hurt-"

He didn't let her finish.

"I don't blame you", Éomer said loudly and continued to dab at the wound with damp cloth to clean the now dried blood. "You fought bravely and that is all I can ask. We didn't guess they would fight back so hard. Sometimes you just can't control everything, no matter how hard you try."

She didn't say anything at first – she just regarded him in silence. But Éomer kept his eyes on the wound.

"Well, what now?" she asked him after a moment.

"Now we keep our heads down. It would be madness to go after them again before this wound heals", he answered evenly. Of course, he was disappointed to just let Shanum go. But he was not foolish enough to try and pursue the man alone, or let Lothíriel join him in yet another reckless plan before she was well once more.

She sighed.

"I'm sorry", she uttered again, sounding ashamed. "I have failed you."

Now Éomer lifted his eyes and met her gaze sharply.

"After all you have already done for me, how can you possibly say that?" he asked her in stern tones. "Have you forgotten so soon that you are the reason I am alive and free?"

Her eyes widened a little. But she had her reaction under control quickly, and then she offered him a small smile.

"You know, you were magnificent back there. I've never seen anyone fight like that", Lothíriel said softly. But he was not flattered. Fighting like a madman, reckless and without reason, was not a cause for pride.

"When I saw you go down... something just snapped", he answered and regarded the wound with a frown. Something cold and dreadful still throbbed in his chest when he thought of the moment she had fallen. For what would he do if she died?

His frown deepened and he muttered, "I went into a battle rage. It has happened to me before."

Now a shiver ran down his spine. The memory of Pelennor Fields returned to him again unbidden and unwelcome. Truth was, it scared him. If he was prone to that madness… could he then be a good leader for his men?

"I've heard about it. Aunt has told me about warriors who get the strength of five men and the recklessness of ten", she said wryly, and he snorted softly. She went on, "I think she even met one once in combat. I could tell she hated to admit it, but it sounded like it was one time she was beaten and had to flee."

"Well", he said at length, looking at the wound and seeing to his relief it was clean now and didn't bleed anymore. He was beyond relieved it didn't need sewing, because that went beyond his skill. He muttered, "Personally, I don't much like it. It's better to fight with a clear head."

"I must thank you, though. You saved us both back there", said Lothíriel in a warm voice. She rested her hand on his forearm, holding it and then seemingly forgetting to let go.

"I watch your back, Lothíriel. Just as you watch mine", he stated simply.

He looked at her now and expected to see the acknowledgement for their partnership. However, she stared at him with a strange expression on her face. She almost seemed disbelieving.

"What is it? Did I say something wrong?" Éomer asked and frowned. He couldn't see what had been unacceptable about his words.

But she shook her head and squeezed his forearm.

"No... no. It's not that. It's just... you see, no one has ever really counted on me like that", she said, sounding somehow timid almost. It was most peculiar from her, who was so fearless and strong when facing enemies. She sighed and went on, "Of course my brothers love me, as I do them. But sometimes I feel they are... they're disturbed by what I am. I don't really fit in their understanding of the world. And Father – he can get so distant. Half my childhood he spent away in Minas Tirith and even when he's home, he gets so caught up with his duties. I know he doesn't mean to be neglectful, but what can a man in his position do? He doesn't really see me and what I do as existing in same person. It's like... for all four of them there is this another me – one they don't talk about, or even acknowledge."

She lowered her eyes and stared at some unfixed point between them.

"As for my aunt... well, I'm not actually so sure if she cares about me very deeply, as a person. She's all too focused on that another me, and ignores the one my father and brothers see. She can be so cold and distant. And sometimes she makes me feel like she doesn't really trust me to be able to do my job without somehow ruining it", she said and sounded a little sad. Èomer blinked in surprise. He had not realised until now that in fact her life was rather lonely. What a paradox this woman was! She was fierce in the face of danger, resourceful and strong. And yet she looked so young and unsure now as she sat there before him.

Lothíriel lifted her eyes once more and met his. Yes, she _did_ seem lonely.

"If that is what they truly think", Éomer said at length, staring hard at her, "then they are a band of fools, all of them. They have had all this time with you, and yet they do not see your worth? I have spent no more than a week in your company and yet I can say without doubt that you are the bravest, the most amazing woman I have ever met."

He saw tears fill her eyes. It was as though no one had ever given her such praise in her entire life. Then she let out a small squeal, and not minding her wound, she threw her arms around him in a slightly violent movement. Éomer received her, pulling her to him... and then, before either of them knew it, his lips were on hers.

She gasped softly against his mouth, but the sound was not in dismay or reluctance. After first shock she began to answer the kiss, granting him better access and shyly parting her lips for him. He felt her fingers first on his neck, then against the back of his head, as though she had decided to keep him right there. He liked how she felt, how she tasted, and how _easy_ this kiss was. It was almost as if they had been lovers for many years.

Éomer did not want to stop, but they both needed to breathe – and perhaps figure out what was happening. But though the kiss ended at last, she didn't pull away. She was seated in his lap now and her hands were still in his hair. His own arms were securely around her.

Her face was flushed and her grey eyes seemed both bewildered and elated.

"What are we doing?" she asked him in a hoarse voice. Her grip of his head remained tight, but not painful.

"I don't know", he answered, holding her close and liking the way their bodies felt pressed against one another. She was surprisingly soft, but there was strength, too. In that moment, he wanted her more than anything he had ever desired in his life… and somewhere deep was certainty that even if by some chance their paths parted forever after tonight, he would always wonder where _this_ could have gone.

He would always ask himself _what if._

"Is this wise?" she whispered and let out a trembling breath. It was a valid question, he had to admit.

"I don't know that either", Éomer answered truthfully. But she felt too good and he surely knew what he wanted. "But I would like to kiss you again. Do I have your permission?"

"... yes. Yes", she replied and leaned closer again, and then world fell away once more.

The kiss was deeper now and more intense. It was as kisses ever were after a fight – heated, eager, almost desperate because of the sheer relief they were still living, though death had brushed by. It was a powerful exchange between... well, not warriors maybe, because she didn't identify herself that way, but something akin. She was a battle maiden in her own way and tonight they had fought side by side. It was fitting that now they should be sharing this, too.

He began to lose control, and a bit of his mind too, because in the tangle of hands and fingers and bodies he accidentally hit her wounded side. Lothíriel hissed against his lips and startled, quickly throwing him back to his senses.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you", he said apologetically, leaning back a little and pulling up the hem of the shirt to check the wound. At least he had not managed to make it bleed again.

"It's fine. I'm not exactly being very careful, either", she said and offered him a slightly pained smile.

There was nothing he wanted more than to just keep kissing her. In fact, he was profoundly tempted to lift her up and take her to the bedchamber, where... but no. She was injured and it was getting late. And she _was_ Imrahil's own daughter, after all. Some restraint would be wise, at least until they figured out what was happening.

"We should get some sleep", Éomer stated at length and he did pick her up, but it was with entirely honourable intentions. She needed to rest.

She made a small displeased sound but did not argue as he took her to the bedchamber. For both their sakes he turned his back when she changed her bloodied shirt into a clean one, and was about to bid her goodnight and leave the room when she suddenly took his hand.

"Don't go", Lothíriel simply said and pulled at his fingers as she moved backwards towards the bed. He searched her face but didn't see _that_ kind of invitation there – just the wish she needn't spend the night alone. It was something he could well understand. When had been the last time he had fallen asleep listening to something else than his own lonely thoughts?

"Very well", he agreed, and soon enough they were settled side by side on the bed. He had been right: it was big enough for them both, if they lay close to one another.

Éomer made a decision for both their comfort's sake (and little bit just because he wanted), and he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close – gently though, as he didn't want to upset her wound again. She rolled against him with a soft gasp of surprise.

"Is this fine?" he asked her, keeping his arm loose enough so that she could pull back if she wanted.

"This is perfect", she said after a moment's silence and put her hand on his chest as she relaxed there, settling against him as though she had done this a thousand times.

He felt it then, as he lay there and had her in his arms; somehow akin to what had stirred when she had taken her injury.

He wanted her to never leave.

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** Here is a new chapter! I hope you liked it. :) **  
**

The first half was actually pretty difficult for me to write, for whatever reason. I tried and tried but it didn't seem to be going anywhere. So if there's some sluggishness there, it's simply because I had trouble getting it once I got my breakthrough, the last of the chapter came out very easily. And no wonder! ;)

It felt like a good place to take their relationship to next level, but also show, through her being injured, that Lothíriel _is_ young still and she's not some invulnerable badass who takes down villains left and right. Plus, she's not used to fighting as a team. Yet I would imagine that her injury rather puts things into perspective for Éomer and allows him to realise something that has been veiled to him until now. And for her, his faith in her and the way he accepts her as a whole person, are things that no one has ever shown her before. But hopefully earlier chapters show there has been movement to this direction.

Some of you hoped to get inside his head, so I hope this chapter manages to deliver!

Thank you for your comments, follows and favourites!

* * *

 **sai19 -** In that case, the ending of this chapter should please you greatly! :)

 **Merakia -** Yes, it's not just her saving him, but them making plans together and working for a shared goal. But we'll see how that goes now that she's injured.

 **Doranwen -** They're getting very close indeed! :) Though the trap didn't pan out as hoped, they may still have acquired something valuable. ;)

 **EStrunk -** Things are developing between them very much! I think Éomer has such deep impact on her, he's making her question a lot of things about her life in addition to being a man she feels attracted to. But not all of that is easy or pleasant, making her think him being a jerk would make this much less difficult for her. I think they have a lot of potential as a team, but on the other hand, I wanted to show they haven't had a chance to actually work on it and make their co-operation seamless.

 **Wondereye -** Unfortunately, no such luck here!

 **Anon -** Glad you liked it! And thank you for your insights. :) I believe you hit close to the home with your assession of her thoughts and what she is discovering with Éomer. He certainly is challenging her expectations in more than just one front, and I imagine this latest development ought to stir the waters even more!

 **Rubandepluie -** :D Glad to hear I have such impeccable timing! I hope you had a great birthday. :) And here's more from Éomer's POV, hopefully it is to your liking!

 **Wtiger5 -** I'm afraid they were not going to go away after all the trouble our duo have already caused them!

 **Nerdanel -** Yes, things are heating up for them indeed! And it was good to be inside both their heads, especially in getting them to this point. Well, it seems like there may not be such a long waiting, after all! :)

 **Jo -** I guess that means I've done my job well? :D

 **Quest -** I'm glad you like the story! As for posting, I'm doing my best!


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Soft light of morning grew steadily, filling the air of small dusty room with warm hues. It was tremendously peaceful, even with the sounds of the city outside. Lothíriel thought of idle things like the blankets tangled around her feet, the fabric under her cheek, her hand against warm skin… when had she slipped her fingers inside the neck of Éomer's shirt? She wasn't sure, but it felt nice there. It was so comforting, the way his chest rose and fell, and how solid it was under her palm. He had such a way to make her feel secure. She didn't feel like she should be wary when she was with him… which Aunt would probably have said was a bad thing. Yes, Lady Ivriniel would tell her she was giving this man too much power over herself.

Perhaps he sensed the troubled turn her thoughts took then, for he stirred and sighed, and Lothíriel pulled back her hand in a guilty sort of movement. But her mind went blank when she looked up and met his eyes, warm and sleepy and so inviting…

"Morning", he murmured huskily. The sound of his voice sent a multitude of shivers down her spine. She felt like she was utterly under his spell.

"Morning", she replied. Even that one word was difficult to get out. She wondered what her aunt would say if she saw the two of them now, nestled in each others' arms like a pair of love birds. No doubt the woman would be amazed and furious… she'd probably think any moment now, Éomer would abandon his restraints and take full advantage of the foolish girl in the bed with him. Such was Aunt's understanding of males. However, he did not move and nothing about him betrayed dreadful intentions. In fact, Lothíriel thought he wore a kind of peace and relaxation she had not perceived before.

For a while neither of them spoke. There was something like quiet wonder in the air between them, uncertainty even. Where to go from what had happened last night? Backwards surely was not an option. For she knew what she had felt when they had kissed. It was overwhelming how _real_ everything had become in that moment… how maybe for the first time, she had felt like the both sides of her had truly merged in his acceptance. He wasn't the first man she had kissed, and yet he may as well have been just that. For it hadn't been a kiss of deceit, used as a weapon to make him bend to her will and do whatever thing she wanted of him. It was, simply said, a kiss of desire.

Yet however much it had been of her desire, she didn't know what it had been for him.

Éomer watched her in silence. His arm was still about her and its warm weight was comforting. But what really shook her was the way he regarded her… he looked and saw all that she was, all the ways she was flawed and wrong, and yet he did not scorn her.

He looked at her as one who is glad to give her a chance.

"How do you feel?" he asked at last, breaking the tender silence between them.

"I'm fine. The wound hardly bothered me last night", she answered. She still felt a little ashamed about the whole affair. It had been such a stupid mistake, getting hurt when he needed her aid. But Éomer did not blame her. It was strange to have it dismissed so easily, because Aunt would have made sure she remembered her slip for the rest of her life.

"Let me take a look", he said and sat up, pulling his arm from around her. The loss of its warmth made her shiver and not just in cold.

Éomer pulled up the hem of her shirt and carefully opened the wrapping around the wound. She didn't pay much attention to the injury itself, but instead studied his features, solemn and strong. She knew he had not yet reached his thirtieth year, and yet there was such fortitude about his features as was rarely seen in one so young. But duty and toil would either break a man or harden him, and the only son of a great captain and a princess would have learned to know them from an early age. And yet… she didn't think these things had made him bitter in his heart of hearts. In that deep place, she felt, it was _kindness_ that drove him.

She wondered: how could one such as him ever look upon her with love?

"It seems well enough. I don't think there's danger of infection. But you must be careful for a few days", he said at length, unaware of her thoughts that had taken something of a depressed turn. Éomer looked at her, "How much longer do you think it will be until your father's ships arrive?"

"I can't say. I insisted the tavern keeper to make haste, and for the fear of my aunt he may have done just that. And my family will be anxious to ensure your safety – as your men will be, I imagine", Lothíriel answered, glad to have something else to think about than the way she felt when he looked at her. Well, it was something they could still work as a team, even if there was this… _thing_ growing between them.

"Hmm. To tell you the truth, I wouldn't be surprised if Éothain insisted on coming himself and bringing the whole guard, too. In any case, I would be glad to have this all over already. It has been enough of an adventure to last me for a few years", he muttered and pulled her shirt back down again. He flashed her a smile and got up, talking about going to get them some water to drink, but she hardly heard him.

She bit her lip and stared at the ceiling. What did his words mean, except for the obvious? Was he eager to get rid of her as well, and go on about his life as ever before? She knew what Aunt would tell her. Lady Ivriniel would scoff and tell her that the man had just been having fun at her expense. He could not have taken it very seriously, and at any rate, it had been inevitable. What did she _think_ would happen after they spent many days together, and alone? The princess could almost hear her aunt's voice in her head, scolding her for foolishly mooning over a handsome man who happened to be nice to her.

And she thought how it was, how it had to be. They would get back to Dol Amroth and this nonsense would be put behind them. Then Éomer would return to his own land, forgetting about her and the brief time they had been together... the strange few days a warrior and a spy had fought side by side.

So it must be. For what could such a great man possibly see in her? Granted, she knew much about the world and people. She knew how to get to Umbar and back, and she had nine and ninety ways to lead on those she encountered on her way. But beyond that, she was as experienced as a young girl. While she might know how to seduce a man and knock him out or kill him, she had as much heart as a child who knows nothing of love and trust and desire. And what would a man like Éomer want with a woman like that?

She was a fool and her spirit was weak. She knew that was what Aunt would tell her; it was so easy to imagine the old woman's disgust and disappointment. How many times had she told her niece that living as the Hidden Blade was far more important than one's private feelings? How clearly it was implied in all her teachings that love was not something one could not reconcile with this life, and that it was useless to even dream of doing so? She remembered the glimpse of him through the half open door, his strong arms and tanned skin and the long golden hair... he was someone who had somehow ensnared some sunlight into his very being, while she was but a creature of twilight and shadow, a spider forever lurking where light could not reach. Two such worlds could not meet or unite.

Her eyes stung and she rubbed them, though in her chest her heart ached so that she feared it might burst. It was clear as day: she was falling in love. And that unfortunate fact was already tearing her life apart.

Lothíriel hauled her up and into a sitting position. Tears were threatening to spill out; the pain in her side was nothing compared to the torment she felt in her breast. Never in her life had she felt so clueless, so very unsure of what she should do. Go home to Aunt, and forever feel the pain of his loss, or… or ask him to… to…

"What is it, Lothíriel? Does the wound pain you?" asked a gentle, concerned voice.

"No", she answered but did not look at him. A hand came to touch her own, warm and steady and strong.

"Then what is it? What troubles you?" Éomer wanted to know as he took seat next to her.

She couldn't lie – not even if she had the presence of mind to do so. The longer she was with him, the more resentful idea of being less than honest became. But what could she say when the answer would only put him in a difficult position? No doubt he'd think she was trying to make him feel like this was the thing he owed to her.

"Is it the last night? Was I… was I too forward with you?" he asked when she didn't answer. He sounded even more worried now and she wanted to shake him for being so silly as to think he had done something wrong.

"No! You were so wonderful. I was so happy last night. You did nothing that I didn't want you to", she mumbled, half in agony and half in embarrassment. Why did she have to be such a fool? If she were more like her aunt, none of this would have happened. If she could just close her heart and cool her thoughts… but that was a dreadful idea, too.

"Then why won't you tell me what is wrong?" he asked her a little more anxiously than before.

"I was just… thinking of what's going to happen when we get back to Dol Amroth", she uttered at last. It was not a lie, but neither was it the full truth. She tried to tell herself she was sparing him from it only because otherwise, he might feel obliged somehow. And she didn't want him doing or saying things that he did not truly feel… for that might break her heart even worse.

Éomer tilted his head and considered her for a minute, before he spoke again.

"What _do_ you think will happen?" he inquired softly.

She lowered her eyes and stared at her lap.

"I imagine the rest of my family will be most pleased that you're safe and sound. They'll do everything in their power to make sure you won't be leaving with a sour taste in your mouth... King Elessar will want to see you as soon as possible of course. He probably has half of Gondor ready to march right now", she answered, and towards the end of her account, she became aware she was babbling. Despite herself, she peeked at his face as quickly as she could and was surprised to see how bewildered he seemed.

"Yes, I imagine that is about right. But I'm rather more interested to hear what you think will become of _us",_ said the Rohir said, having mastered his surprise.

She fidgeted the hem of her shirt in her hands. Why did he have to speak like in this way! Why must he use that word, that promising, tempting little word! She had already convinced herself there could never be _we_ as far as her and this wonderful man were considered.

"I don't suppose you are thinking of hiring a spy?" she tried weakly.

"Not right now", he said solemnly and lifted his hand. He placed it tentatively on her shoulder. Even its warm weight seemed like a torment to her. But he spoke, "I was hoping for a more permanent arrangement."

She must have looked at him like a complete idiot, for he frowned momentarily and drew a breath.

"Lothíriel, I want you to know I do not regret what happened last night. In fact it has been the only thing I've been able to think of ever since… I lay awake half the night because thoughts of you would not cease", he started slowly and stared straight at her, though she still had difficulty meeting his eyes. He went on, "I know you were pulled into this mess against your own plans and you had no obligation to come after me. But I am forever grateful to you for saving my life and all the efforts you have made for my sake. And because of you, this past week has not been a complete nightmare; I have grown to enjoy your company and how easy it is to be with you, be it in battle or friendship. Truth be told I want to take it further – much futher. Yet I know eventually this journey will end, and… and when we reach Dol Amroth, I do not wish to be parted from you again."

The princess stared at the Rohir in open-mouthed wonder. She had just reasoned this could never happen, and yet... there he sat next to her, telling her that he... that he wanted her? She felt unreal. He, the brilliant young king with gold like sunlight upon his brow, would look at a shadow-maiden and wish for her to remain with him? It sounded too good to be true. It sounded _mad._

"Éomer, I..." she began, but her words failed her, and she slumped there opening and closing her mouth while his dark, flaming eyes held her bewitched. For all her training to be able to swiftly react to whatever impossible happenstance came her way, now she was entirely clueless.

She looked away, trying to get a hold of her thoughts, until at last she managed in a small voice, "You can't be serious."

He frowned.

"And what makes you think that?" he asked her sharply.

"Just... look at us! You're the famous King of Rohan, a celebrated war-hero and personal friend of King Elessar, and I... I'm just..." Lothíriel tried, but once more her voice died in the middle of it.

"You're just what?" Éomer asked and moved a little closer. He was still staring at her intently.

"I'm like some sort of spider that pulls its webs in the dark and goes stabbing people in the back at others' bidding! I'm the last person in the world you should give more than two thoughts!" she tried desperately, because surely this was some kind of a mistake, and she had to make him see that before he managed to convince her otherwise! For if she didn't, then she would just... she would be his completely and have her heart shattered because he was a brilliant flame and she had listened all her life to how something like that could not be hers.

"Lothíriel", he said gently, reaching to brush his fingers across her cheek and gently down her chin, "I see your darkness and it doesn't scare me. I know it is but a small thing to the light that shines through and would surely grow, given the chance. And you are the most unique woman I have ever met. I do not think there is anyone like you in the whole world, and... and I would regret it forever if I did not at least let you know how much..."

He hesitated then, searching her face that she was sure had grown even more incredulous now. The Rohir cupped her cheek in his hand and spoke very softly, "How much I care about you."

Oh, Elbereth! If there had been any doubt before, there was none now. This man already had her. And she knew what she hoped – against her reason she _ached_ for it – but she had to make sure. So, with a trembling voice, she whispered, "What are you asking me?"

He seemed to sober a little, and he cleared his throat before he took her both hands in his own.

"Lothíriel, will you accept my hand in marriage?" he asked her softly, interlacing his fingers with her own.

"For the life of me I cannot tell why you would ask me to marry you", she said in a trembling little voice and let out a small, hysterical laugh, "but yes! A thousand times yes!"

He laughed softly as well when she jumped to hug him, and his arms readily received her, and then he kissed her. He was bold and assertive and it felt good to her – she liked that he would approach her so, not like she was a clueless maiden or a dangerous spider but a woman he knew well both in thought and body. With a delighted little squeal, she wrapped her arms around his neck and answered the kiss, and she did not do it in the way the woman in the house with red veils had taught her, but how she wanted to, how it felt good and natural to respond when a man kisses like he did.

The morning was bright and its light was pure gold on the face and hair of the King of Rohan, this man for whom she had put her own life in line; she was glad to have done it, for he deserved it more than anyone... and in him, she had found someone who saw and accepted her. He smiled at her and she thought he had never been more fair in her eyes. Dark was passing and he was her new sunrise.

"Thank you. For everything", he whispered as he cradled her to him. The heat of his hands seeped into her flesh like a branding mark: the shape of them, the firm strength of their grip, felt something like home.

"Glad to be of service", she replied, giddy with the sensation of being free unlike she had ever felt before. With her arms around his neck and her mouth against his, she forgot about everything her aunt had ever told her.

* * *

The ending of the Ring War had seen many joyous dawns, but Éomer was not sure even in any of the high days of triumph he had felt happier than he did in that golden morning. It seemed like he and Lothíriel were closed away in a small pocket of light and laughter, though he did not forget beyond it, a band of murderous pirates were hunting for them.

Last night, he had lain awake for a long time. Not to say it wouldn't have been sweet to sleep with her by his side, but the events of the evening had left him agitated and his mind was full of thoughts of her. And eventually, he had come to a sort of understanding with himself. He knew now where the madness had come from, and _why,_ when he had seen her get hurt. With it, he had an inkling of how it would feel like to take his leave of her once this misadventure ended.

Éomer wanted none of that.

But what could he offer to a woman like her? She was not like most ladies he knew. What if she felt like he was a shackle to bind her, an end to her freedom? On the other hand, he had seen how alone she was in her shadow, even with her aunt there, and the way she yearned for someone to accept her as she was. What she had was freedom only in one sense, and she had bonds of her own that maybe he could help to lift. And with that, he knew he already had everything he needed – everything one _could_ give to another. He could simply offer _himself_ and hope it was enough. And it seemed that it _was_ enough.

If that was true, then he could only thank the pirates for bringing him together with her. Well, that was one wonderfully absurd story to share with their children and grandchildren. The thought nearly made him giddy.

They enjoyed the morning in slow leisure. He prepared some breakfast for them and only briefly noted how their water and foodstuffs were dwindling. It was difficult to worry about anything right now, for Lothíriel was in such high spirits, they would surely have lifted his too if he had not already been just as glad. She was seated on the sofa, which place she had accepted only when he had insisted her to take some rest so that her wound could heal. When he turned to look at her and met her eyes, they glittered with good cheer and mischief that reminded him of Amrothos. To himself, Éomer wondered what would Lothíriel be like today if her aunt had never got to her. How very different would she be if she hadn't been raised to bear a duty that no one should have to carry?

Even so, he didn't think it was too late for her. It seemed that his questions and misgivings had remained with her and stirred something; she wouldn't have wondered about the right and wrong of her actions if she had moved past them to a state where only ruthless attempts to ensure Dol Amroth's gain directed her.

This thought also brought Éomer to the question that he made to her once they had breakfast before them.

"When you tell your family about your plans… do you think your father will show opposition to it, or your aunt?" he asked her and watched her face. Truth be told, he wasn't that worried about Imrahil. They were in good terms and he couldn't see any good reason the Prince would disallow their betrothal. But Lady Ivriniel? _She_ may have a thing or two to say.

Lothíriel very much confirmed what he had already guessed.

"Father won't be a problem. Like I told you earlier, he'll be anxious to make up for your pains any way he can. If the thing you ask is my hand in marriage, fine. Our Houses are already allied, you and him are close friends, and it is a good match as far as politics go", she answered evenly, until a grimace twisted her face. "But Aunt? Oh, she won't be happy. She's going to tell me it's a horrible mistake, you are not worthy of me, and who knows what else. She'll think I'm letting all my potential go to waste… which is why I'd like to have you there when I talk with her. Aunt will have harder time using her tricks if you're around. And it will be easier for me to make my point."

Éomer nodded. It was as he thought: Lady Ivriniel was going to be the chief obstacle in this matter.

"I would be glad to accompany you", he said to her and smiled. He had a feeling the confrontation would not be very pleasant, which was all the more reason for him to go with her. Perhaps that way it would be easier. For the life Ivriniel had trained her for was really the only one Lothíriel had known since young age and breaking free of it might require his help.

Another thought occurred to him, and he asked: "What about this… tradition you have? The line you and your aunt represent?"

"Well, I'm not the only spy my father employs. Others will take my place. And maybe it's time for our kind to pass away. The world is changing and there is peace in the lands of Free Men", Lothíriel answered at length. She looked at him straight now and her face was serious. "You asked me before what I thought to achieve in my life. I hadn't thought it at the time, but now… I do believe the answer is 'something more'. I don't want this to be all there is in store for me, and if I can't dedicate myself fully to this way of mine and aunt's, then maybe I should give it up."

He couldn't say her answer didn't surprise him. She sounded hopeful when she spoke, not at all sad for the idea of seeking an end to the life she had known.

"I wondered…" she started at the sudden, looking at him with wary eyes. "You haven't said a single cross word about my… methods. Well, aside from when you pointed out that it might not be a good idea to just dump the captain in the river."

Éomer met her gaze gravely.

"You began all of this by helping me and promising to save my life. And you delivered your promise. That is not a matter I take lightly, Lothíriel. It seems dishonest to me, even hypocritical, to criticise your way of working when I'm benefiting from it so much", he answered slowly. Then he let out a sigh, "However it is true that I would have been very hard on you, were I younger. I used to be so adamant about many things. But since I became king, I have had to learn again much that I thought I knew. A ruler of people must accept a few ugly truths, if he means to be any good for his people… here in the mortal lands, very few get to be blissful kings in a realm where sun always shines."

His tone grew a little sharper when he continued, "I did see something ruthless in you back on the ship, and it chilled me. But since then I have deemed there is so much more to you than that. I rather feel it's the shade of your aunt I saw, not yourself."

She looked at him and was equally solemn.

"And that is something that troubles me, too. I've been thinking… I see now the ways I've gone crooked. I want to become more like you, Éomer. Be as good as you are", she said thoughtfully.

"Lothíriel", he said softly, gently, "I am flattered that you think so highly of me. But I am not a paragon of virtue, and you should not treat me as such. I am just a man, after all."

"I know that", she responded. "It's not like I'm trying to set you up as my sole guideline. It's just... you inspire me. You make me want to become a better person. I never thought much about these things before I met you, and I may need a little help sometimes, so... I suppose I'm asking for you to give me a hand."

Now Éomer smiled, and his heart felt lighter. It was somehow deeply relieving to know that his first instinct about her had been right. And he had found her before it was too late.

For a while, they ate in companionable silence as the morning grew outside. But soon enough a new question came to Éomer, and so he looked at the woman sitting opposite him again. Though she was still a little pale from the loss of blood, otherwise she seemed to be well and glad, with a peaceful glimmer in her grey eyes.

"Do you think you will miss it? Being this spiderly sort of thing?" he asked her. It was half awkward, half joking. But the question itself was quite valid.

Lothíriel shrugged as she chewed on a piece of bread.

"I don't know. It's not like I can yet compare it to what will be. And even if I did miss the sneaking and the scheming, there are… there are other things. And maybe they are more valuable. Time will tell", she said thoughtfully. Then she flashed him a smile. "Who knows? Maybe the King of Rohan will need a spy in the future."

He laughed. That would be quite something, sending his own wife to sneak around enemy lines! But laughter gave soon way to other things when a more solemn mood came to him.

His wife.

The idea had never seemed more attractive, or more _real_ as it did in this moment. For the concept had a face now and it held possibilities that he desired. Lothíriel in the Golden Hall, laughing and chatting in Rohirric to the general amazement of his people, and standing by his side as he pored over maps and making comments here and there about distant lands… wielding politics and diplomacy as her blade rather than hidden knives, rolling into his arms in the bed of the royal chambers, and telling stories to a pair of golden-haired children about her adventures… it all came to him more easily than ever. Before he had thought of marriage as a duty, now it was a chance.

Lothíriel looked at him curiously.

"What is it? What are you thinking of?" she asked him softly.

He met her eyes and smiled.

"Just imagining the time when we are married", he stated in warm tones. A gentle blush covered her cheeks, and she smiled too, as she reached her hand over the table to cover his own.

"I think", she said softly, with a bright shine in her eyes, "We are going to be very happy."

* * *

Hours did not seem slow when they were so glad, and so a happy morrow rolled at last to a gentle twilight. They talked about many things – of what would happen when they got to Dol Amroth, how their news would be received among their friends and families, and imagining a future they would share together. Lothíriel knew much of the Riddermark thanks to her aunt's teachings, but she was eager to hear what he had to tell about his homeland. And so Éomer spent a long while describing his country and the people living there, their many songs and golden sunrises over the green fields and autumn's first frost, and the way of life that was dear to him. Her eyes sparkled and she goaded him to tell her more, as though she could hardly wait to see the land of the horselords.

This peace was only broken when Éomer went out to get them some water and food – he had insisted to do this, for she needed to rest and let her wound heal. He had been as swift as he could, and as careful. As far as they knew, their safe haven remained unknown to their enemies. He hoped this was enough to keep them safe.

Avoiding pirates was not the only reason for his haste, though. He was eager to get back to her, because who knew how soon Imrahil's Swan Knights would arrive to collect them and thus end this rare opportunity of being alone? Éomer wondered if he should feel guilty for feeling so much happiness while Éothain must be losing his mind. But then, there was nothing he could do presently to help the situation.

Lothíriel waited for him by the fire. It was getting dark already and dancing embers cast their soft light across her face. She smiled when he came, reaching her hands for him as soon as he had put down the bucket and a new bundle of food. And he took her hand in his own and returned to her side right away.

It was not long after that she suggested they go to bed. The invitation was clear on her features and he was glad to join her. So he lay himself down next to her, content to let her decide the level of intimacy there would be tonight. He couldn't say he wasn't pleased when she reached for him and her lips found his. Some restraint there still was, but there are other ways for lovers to be close to one another in the dark, and rise above the stars for a while.

His sleep was light and sweet that night, but Éomer woke up just before dawn. Lothíriel still slumbered, curled up against him on her good side. Her face was pressed against his throat and her arm rested heavily across his hip, while their feet were tangled under the blankets. It was a pity to move away from such a pleasant arrangement, but he felt quite sharp and awake. And last night he had thought about getting more water today so that they could both have a wash. So, perhaps he could go and take care of that task now, when the city still slept and hopefully pirates did too?

So he disentangled himself from her arms as carefully as he could. Lothíriel mumbled softly in her sleep and fitted her face against his pillow. Éomer smiled as he rearranged blankets over her. For a moment he just stood there, marvelling over how _right_ this felt. The warmth of her body still lingered against his and now that he was up, he dearly wanted to return to her arms. But he reminded himself they would have all the nights in the world with one another.

Éomer grabbed his boots and exited the bedchamber as quietly as he could. He did not bother lighting a candle yet – he may as well fetch the water now and then return to her side. It was still some time till dawn. Idly he picked up the sword he had taken from the captain and girthed it on his side. It would be a foolish idea to go out, even to fetch water, without some protection.

He found the buckets next to the door and lifted up them both. They were heavy even as empty and crudely made. He grimaced to himself in the dark as he imagined her dragging these things, filled with water. It was high time he pulled his own weight.

The pre-dawn hour was quiet and still. The air smelled a little moist with a breath from the sea. Were Imrahil's men close now? Would the man send one of his sons here, and would Éothain be coming, too? At least, Éomer imagined his captain would insist on it. He held back a snort. Imrahil might just have to put the man behind bars to hold him back. But it would be good: with his own Riders and Swan Knights, it would be no trouble rounding up the corsairs. At least, he hoped this could be achieved before the villains realised the danger.

The Rohir shook his head and headed down the stairs. He owed his captain quite an apology. He would try to be more careful from now on, and perhaps it would please Éothain to know that he was planning on marrying soon. The idea made him smile.

The pleasant thought was short lived and his smile froze. Buckets fell from his hands and landed on the ground with a thud. For Éomer had not got far from the safe house when he saw in grey light of dawn seven men approaching him in a narrow corridor, and foremost came none else than Shanum himself.

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** *happy sigh* Yes, I do love my cliffhangers. Sometimes they just write themselves.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Lothíriel and Éomer were able to figure out a lot of things about their relationship and where to go from here, but we'll see how this new development will impact everything. I especially enjoyed writing the bit from Lothíriel's POV in the beginning of the chapter and her reasoning - and then him showing to her how wrong she had it. But it was also great to have a look at it through Éomer's eyes and then write that conversation between them. I imagine they both understand a little better what they feel for each other.

Thank you for reading and reviewing!

* * *

 **MissCallaLilly -** I'm glad you liked it! :)

 **Nerdanel -** Kisses are good indeed! ;) Too bad their enemies have come to interrupt all the fun, though. Anyway, I'm flattered you think so highly of my writing! Thank you very much!

 **Doranwen -** One step forward, and then two backwards, as it seems now? :D These pirates are not blessed with a good sense of timing.

 **A -** Thank you!

 **Luckylily -** Thank you! Happy to hear you liked it. :)

 **Anon -** I would say it's moderately easy for him to accept her as a partner (and hopefully this chapter explains it a bit, too). He's well aware that what chances he has of making it safely out of this are with her and as a keen judge of character, he deems that she is worthy of his trust. At every turn, she has been fighting and struggling to help him and he is not indifferent to this. He sees things about her that she herself has not yet realised. And it's clear to him that going berserk, distrusting her and showing her that she doesn't have his faith, are only going to hurt both their chances. Not to mention, she is Imrahil's family. He probably thinks that beneath all subterfuge, she _is_ more her father's daughter than her aunt's niece. Or, this is what he wanted to believe when he learned her identity, and is finding more proof for as they go along.

Also the reason he doesn't immediately connect the battle rage between his love of Éowyn and growing love of Lothíriel, is because of his fear of it. He tries not to think of it because in his mind it makes him lesser as a leader than he had thought. As such, he also doesn't make the necessary connection. But this is such deep meta that it's very hard to write that open in the story itself without exposing it to Éomer himself as well, and as a character he has not yet reached that level of understanding. Plus, he's still trying to figure this all out, because before the moment she got hurt he didn't even know how much he wants her to stay with him. Perhaps there is also some denial, because even if he wants her and desires to sleep beside her (latter of which is in good part because the poor man just _needs_ some reassurance and comfort), she's making him feel things he hasn't before, and that is weird and scary for a man who has been alone for so long. But more on that later on!

 **sai19 -** I am glad if the story delivered in the hoped way! I imagine Éothain is indeed having some rough time, but I want to retain some suspense in that regard for certain reasons that will hopefully soon be revealed!

 **EStrunk -** Yes, they truly have some major problems in their hands now! Some of which may not have become even apparent yet. ;) And we'll see what will go down now that they are separated and Éomer is faced with their enemies again!

 **Jo -** I do my best! :)

 **Merakia -** I'm glad if I could surprise you with those twists! Lothíriel's revelations were indeed fascinating to write for me as well. It's really interesting to explore this character that can be fierce in one situation and who still has all this doubt and vulnerability in them. Anyway, I'm glad you liked that little bit!

 **Boramir -** Oh, they have sent a message to Dol Amroth - she did so the very night they arrived in Pelargir and they have been waiting for reinforcements since then. But I've chosen to omit showing what impact it had and what's going on there. Mostly because I want to keep up a bit of suspense as to what's going on there and if help is coming!


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

There was mist on the river.

It hovered heavily like a milky white film, eerie in the quiet hour before the dawn. All the world was still and the only sound in the world was the gentle lap of water against oars. As the wind had settled, oarsmen were now at work under the deck. Their orders was to row as carefully as they could. Prince Imrahil wasn't sure what they would find in Pelargir, but Éothain had advised caution. If the corsairs had come here after his king, they ought not to have any warning.

The Captain of the King's Guard stood at the brow of the ship and gazed ahead. His fingers tapped against the railing. It was not long now to Pelargir; they would reach it with dawn. Behind him, his men were ready and waiting. They spoke in faint whispers, but Éothain was sure if he should look back now, he would see their agitation plain on their faces. His heart hammered in his chest, anxious for the moment he would see his friend and king. Was Éomer all right? Was he safe? So the message had said, but many things could have changed since then. And Éomer could get restless, if he was left idle for too long. Sometimes he was his own worst enemy.

He breathed in and out again, trying to calm his thoughts. He couldn't lose his grip now, no matter how uneasy he felt. Éothain was well aware it was his calm manner that had kept the men in line until now, though staying collected had been one of the hardest things he had ever done, and it would not do to lose it at this point. There was no reason to expect things had gone awry. Before afternoon arrived today, he would be with his liege-lord again and all this would be put behind.

Éothain pictured it once more, like he had so many times done before now. Reaching the safe house Lady Ivriniel had spoken of, finding Éomer and the Princess Lothíriel there, and taking them back to the ship... hearing all the mad things that had happened during this past week. While seeing Éomer safe and sound was his chief hope and expectation, he also very much looked forward to meeting _her._ What kind of a woman managed this thing? Was she like her aunt, cold and distant and loath to speak to others than her kinsmen? He snorted under his breath. Éomer would have had his hands full if he had been dealing with a younger version of this icy woman.

On the other hand... if the lady was warmer than her aunt... what she had done spoke of singular courage and persistence. Éomer was not blind to such qualities. Éothain smiled faintly. Perhaps this all would turn out better than any of them could have guessed. He needed to hope so.

Unless, of course, they were already too late. In that case, he might just go mad.

He heard soft steps behind himself, and then Amrothos halted to stand by his side. Imrahil's son shuddered in the chill of the morning and rubbed his eyes. He was not a lover of dawns.

"Ready to rage?" asked the prince and suppressed a mighty yawn.

"Ready and eager", Éothain said grimly. Yes, he would very much enjoy getting to laying some law on pirate scum. He glanced at the man next to him, "You?"

"Delighted, as ever", Amrothos answered and grimaced against another yawn that tried to get through. He looked at the captain, wearing a solemn expression on his face. It was most unusual. Since the disastrous night Éomer had vanished, Amrothos seemed to have grown up in a matter of twentyfour hours. The jokes he had cracked since then could be counted with one hand's fingers.

"Where's your father?" asked Éothain, mostly because he couldn't stand the silence and the growing anxiety.

"Overseeing the last preparations, as if everything wasn't in place already. I don't remember ever seeing him this jittery", aid Amrothos and shook his head.

The captain groaned. If Prince Imrahil, one of the most collected men he had ever met, was being nervous... well, his reason said it was because Imrahil had more at stake than maybe anyone else, but still. He could not be at peace until he had made sure Éomer was fine.

"Don't worry about it, Éothain. I know my sister and trust her. She'll have kept him safe and we'll see him very soon", Amrothos reassured him, having sensed his troubled mood.

"Aye. I hope that we do", said the Rohir quietly. He kept his eyes in the thick wisps of mist, straining to see the city beyond.

There was a brief silence as they both gazed ahead. Eventually Amrothos spoke again.

"You know that I'm sorry, don't you? That I would die before wish him harm?" he asked very softly.

Éothain's mood relented a bit. What guilt it must be on Imrahil's youngest son, feeling that it was because of him Éomer had been taken... perhaps such burdens were heaviest on the lightest spirits.

"I know, Amrothos. And he does, too", said Éothain. He reached to squeeze Amrothos' shoulder and the prince managed to conjure a small smile.

Amrothos' officer arrived and broke the comradely silence between them.

"My lord, we are almost there and the men are ready. Your lord father asks for you", said the man. He was arrayed in blue and silver like the rest of Amrothian troops. In Éothain's experience, Knights of Dol Amroth were some of the most competent fighters in all of Gondor. If and when it came to fight, he was not worried at all. He just hoped it was not too late to make that difference.

"Just a minute, Galdor", said Amrothos and glanced at Éothain. The captain nodded silently. As soon as they landed, he would be taking his men and hurry to get Éomer. The sooner Éothain had his eyes on the man, the better.

Galdor saluted and left the two men alone again. In the mist ahead, Éothain could see what he thought was the first glimpse of the ancient port of Pelargir.

Amrothos flashed him a grin – first real one in days.

"Let's go get them, old man."

* * *

The tip of her nose felt cold.

Lothíriel decided she did not like this state of matters. Luckily, she knew just the way to warm it up again, and so she nuzzled with it… or attempted, anyway. Because her nose did not come to contact with warm skin as she had expected. Now where was that man?

She reached with her hand, trying to find him where he was supposed to be. But Éomer's place next to her was empty. She groaned under her breath. That he would leave after a night like that! Not that anything too serious had happened – she was injured and they both had managed to retain some semblance of reason – but the sweet memory still made her feel like a ball of warmth glowed in the centre of her chest. She had liked the way he felt, the way he responded to her. He was so bold and yet he was caring and gentle, giving as well as taking. It had been _real._ There had been no need to pretend anything, or try to perform, or think of how it was a part of some mission. She could just be _herself._

Lothíriel opened her eyes and looked around. It was very quiet in the apartment, but sounds from outside spoke of the city waking up to another day.

"Éomer?" she called his name, expecting him to answer from the other room. But there was no response. Where had he gone? She didn't see his boots on the floor, where he had kicked them off last night when they had gone to bed.

A faint streak of concern was forming, but she tried to suppress it as she hauled herself up and standing. Éomer could well take care of himself and he didn't need her fussing over him like some overprotective fool. But why had he left her in the dead of night? Maybe there was some kind of a message…

Lothíriel searched both the rooms but found nothing that could be interpreted as his message to her. Only thing she could figure out, he had left without meaning to be away for long. But where would he have gone? Surely there had to be some sign that revealed his intentions. She looked around herself in the room. What had changed?

Soon enough she realised what was missing – in addition to the man himself. Both the buckets were gone from their usual place near the door. So, he had gone to get some water! Of course he'd do that when he had the chance.

She bit her lip and looked at the door. How long had he been gone? Why hadn't he said anything to her? More and more questions sprang to her mind. With them, her worry grew also. The reasonable part of her was aware she was probably being overcaring, but on the other hand, he _was_ the King of Rohan. As minutes passed by, she began to think about pirates, and if they were out there, right now… what if he had come across them and was now their prisoner?

Lothíriel could not wait any longer. She went back to the bedchamber to fetch her knives, which she slipped on place. Her hair she braided quickly and messily before stuffing it under a hat. Well, she wasn't sure at this point whether it made any difference, but it was true what she had told Éomer previously. Lads had easier time going about and being ignored, and there could be other unfriendly eyes out there than those of the corsairs.

She quickly checked her wound. It seemed good enough, and probably wouldn't bother her, if she was careful. And in any case, she couldn't let a small matter like that hold her back. Not when Éomer might need her.

So, after quickly eating a piece of bread – there was no sense on going out and engaging in potentially dangerous situations on an empty stomach – Lothíriel made for the door. But before she could reach the handle, a noise from outside alarmed her. A pair of heavy feet approaching the door… was it him? Had Éomer got back after all?

But some instinct told her otherwise. The newcomer approached too slowly, too carefully. Shiver ran down her spine and she grabbed her knife as she positioned herself next to the door. Whoever was coming inside would not see her before it was too late.

Éomer had not locked the door on his way out, probably because he hadn't meant to be gone for long. And so the handle turned and the door opened. A man peeked inside. He was one of the pirates, which she clearly perceived even though he had tried to conceal his garb with a nondescript cloak. For she had seen him back on the ship and she did not quickly forget the faces of her enemies.

The quiet of the apartment fooled him long enough and he stepped inside – only to receive a blade of cold steel between his ribs. He opened his mouth, to gasp or to cry out, but Lothíriel muffled the sound with her hand as she eased the body inside. Even as she took his life, she muttered a curse under her breath. He might have had valuable information on Éomer's whereabouts, but she had no time or physical capacity for exacting it. With her wound she would either have been killed or taken captive, depending on the villain's mission here. And both were outcomes she had to avoid with all her might.

Be that as it may, she was beyond dismayed. First, their safe haven had been found. Second, if they now knew this place, it was quite possible Éomer was already captured. And third, Aunt would be furious with her for compromising the safe house. Well, there was nothing to it now. She only had one responsibility here and that was making sure Éomer was fine.

Right now, she was his only hope.

Lothíriel began to move. She did not lock the door; while it was unlikely, Éomer might return here. Momentarily she considered leaving him a note, but decided against it. More pirates might come and she didn't want to give them any pointers to where she had gone. As for the Rohir – well, she hoped he'd put together two and two, and figure out she was trying to find him.

It was easy enough to trace Éomer's first steps. If he had gone to get some water, he'd go for the closest public well – probably the same for which she had given directions last evening. Had he even got that far? Where would the pirates take him from there, if they had caught him? Was their ship now ready to sail again?

So many questions and no answers. Her heart ached in her breast, more painful than the injury she had taken. If this should be the way she would lose this peerless man, so soon after she had found him… the idea of going back to her business as the Hidden Blade did not comfort her. How could that life ever satisfy her now, when she had dared to imagine a life in light? When there was already something growing in her breast that was against all the lies and shadows? Éomer did not deserve a fate like this! His people needed him, he had so much in the world to do and achieve, and who could comfort those who loved him if he was lost?

Lothíriel shook herself and gritted her teeth. It was not yet the time to mourn the man. First she needed to find out if there was still something she could do to help him. And, if by some chance, he had got away after all.

She found the buckets soon enough. By the side of the narrow street they had fallen, empty and dry to her touch. So he had not even got to the wells. What had happened here? She hadn't seen his sword back at the apartment, which hopefully meant he wasn't weaponless. Éomer wouldn't leave without a blade, of that she was sure. But even with it, how many enemies could he fight alone? How many had met him here?

It was then she saw the dark, wet spot on the ground nearby. _Blood._ And there was lots of it: someone had died here! Her heart skipped a beat and she rose quickly – too quickly, as was evidenced by the twinge of pain in her side. Lothíriel quickly looked around and saw a small woman walking by, careful as to not step in the pool of blood.

"Excuse me, mistress", said the princess in her most boyish voice, "Might you know what happened here?"

The woman, dressed in roughly woven dress and an apron, turned to look at her. She looked much as Gondorians did in these parts, with thick curly hair and a pair of brown eyes wrinkled at corners.

"I might, indeed!" she answered and threw a resentful glance at the bloodstain. "I live in that very building there, and heard all that awful racket just before dawn. There was shouting at first, and then I could hear them fighting. Can you imagine! Not that our fine old city hasn't it problems, but it's been months since the last incident, and we all were thinking things were getting better! I say, when will the King bring order and justice to this city?"

The woman looked like she might have gone on ranting about the state of Pelargir rather than shed more light on what had happened on the street, and so Lothíriel spoke up.

"What happened then? Did you see anyone?"

"No, I didn't see anything – it was still too dark. But then someone gave out a terrible cry, and next thing I know, sounds of running. I did not dare to come out before city guards had arrived. You never know with these villains, they could decide to kill you too! I saw them carrying the body", the woman said and shook her head.

Lothíriel shuddered. Had Éomer got hurt? At least there seemed to be enough blood that he could have received some injury. But the woman had heard running and shouting… maybe he had got away?

Did she dare to hope something so good?

"Did you know the body?" she asked, though she didn't think it could be Éomer. The corsairs would not want to kill him while there was still a chance to get away with their plan.

"No, lad. Never seen him in my life. Looked like one of them Southrons, to tell you the truth. I would have thought him a merchant, but to get killed in that manner… maybe he was of a fouler sort", the woman answered as though she was sharing some kind of a unique observation.

"Thank you, mistress. You have been very helpful", Lothíriel answered and fished her pocket. She actually found some coin there and she readily handed a few pieces to her informant. The woman looked quite pleased, even going as far as bidding her good day as she departed.

Lothíriel stood there for a while, trying to decide what to do. Still the aching sensation persisted in her chest, though now it was joined by _fear._ Tears filled her eyes. What if she was already too late? How could she ever face her family, and the world, if she failed this mission? The idea was unbearable. To lose the man she had only just come to know, and come to love…

She took a few steadying breaths. Now was not the time to give up, not while she lived and could do something. She would find him, somehow.

Having calmed herself down, Lothíriel also grasped at a new course of action. If Shanum and his loathsome crew had managed to catch Éomer, they might take him back to the ship. And even if not, there it was possible she would find out something. Their manner could betray some hints: if they were acting triumphant, it could mean he was in their hands, and anxiety could betray that he was still free.

Feeling determined again, Lothíriel began to make her way to the port. She moved as swiftly as she could with the injury. There was a tightness about it that did not bode well, but right now she couldn't worry about herself. At least, it wasn't yet bleeding. Oh, Mandos damn this all! And she had thought things had been going so well!

She trudged forward, hand against her side, all the way to the port.

And found there something she did not at all expect.

* * *

Seven men came at Éomer in the grey hour of dawn. Four of them were members of the pirate crew, Shanum among them. But three did not look like Umbarian scoundrels, but rather like the small criminal sort of the city. The Rohir guessed the corsairs had struck some kind of a bargain with them to get more eyes in the city – and blades in a fight. Most likely that was also how they had found him. Was it good or bad? If they already knew of the safe house, then this attack might have come while he and Lothíriel were asleep…

"We meet again, horselord", Shanum spat in hateful delight.

"So it would seem", Éomer answered. But he was not going to waste time in small talk, or give this lot a chance to surround him.

He threw everything he got into his attack. It served him well enough in the narrow corridor: he was able to wound fatally one of the pirates and send the rest of them into a momentary disarray. Knowing he wasn't going to get a better chance, Éomer then turned and ran as fast as his feet would carry him. He hated having to flee from a fight, but alone and without his proper gear it would have been very stupid to try and engage them in combat. And his first duty here was to stay alive.

Éomer did not head back to the apartment. It would be a dead end and most likely both him and Lothíriel would get killed there. No, he couldn't lead these villains straight to her while she was injured and suspected nothing. Hopefully she'd put together two and two as soon as she woke up and noticed he was gone… but how to reunite with her after this and what should they do when their safe haven clearly was safe no more, Éomer did not yet know. Right now, his chief concern was getting away from his pursuers.

What drove him then, gave him wings almost, was nothing akin to fear or care for his own life. Rather, there was a burning ache in his chest and a need to see _her_ again. There was still so much to be said, to do, to _be._ He wasn't going to give up this thing, not when it had barely even started. And he would not let these villains take it from _them,_ not while there was a living breath left in him.

But it turned out he had some luck even now. For as the dawn was breaking over the world and he was running from the cursing bunch of enemies, he ran to wide street – perhaps one of the main roads of the city. There came a squad of soldiers, laughing and talking among themselves. Éomer guessed they were night guards heading back to their barracks after duty. Throwing a glance behind his shoulder he saw Shanum and his company slowing down and slinking back to shadow a bit. The Rohir hid his grin and adjusted his pace, as though he was a perfectly ordinary citizen of Pelargir enjoying a fair morning. A few of the guards gave him lingering looks, but he was allowed to walk by in peace. Maybe after long night on duty their vigilance was less than keen.

As soon as he was away from the squad, Éomer turned to take another smaller alley and ran again to put distance between himself and the corsairs. He was now well and truly lost, much to his dismay, but there was nothing he could do. Béma! Was there ever going to be an end to this loathsome affair? The mere thought of pirates and Umbar and ships made him sick!

Eventually he had to stop to catch his breath. Leaning his back against a wall circling the courtyard of some house, he panted and wiped sweat from his brow. It seemed like he had been able to get rid of them, thanks to the guards he had passed by, but he did not trust himself to be safe. There could be more out there, and maybe his pursuers were already getting close again. If they had locals in their company, then Shanum would have easier time tracking him.

Éomer was outnumbered and cut off from his only ally. He did not know his way about this city and what little coin he had in his pockets from yesterday wouldn't take him far. How should he find his way back to Lothíriel? She was wounded and didn't know where he had vanished. His chances did not seem at all good, and he began to wonder if he should just find city guard and surrender himself. They might not believe he was indeed the King of Rohan, but at least he would then be away from the reach of his enemies, and perhaps his captors could be persuaded to request someone to identify him? Imrahil's Swan Knights were coming to Pelargir in any case, and perhaps one of his sons would be among them. They would tear the city apart to find him. And if he made enough noise, they wouldn't be able to ignore him… someone was bound to recognise him eventually. However, this would mean leaving Lothíriel to fend for herself. What if the corsairs went after her? They could try and use her to get him, or simply exact their vengeance from her...

"Let's look this way!" someone said around the corner. The voice was not familiar, but the southern accent betrayed the speaker right away.

The Rohir refrained from groaning. It was time to move again.

But even as he was running once more, he heard the sound not so far from this place, and it was so joyous it nearly made him laugh. Clear and strong and bright, they sang in the morning, and as they ever had since he was a young lad, they stirred his heart.

Horns of the North had come to Pelargir.

* * *

At once upon her arrival to the harbour of Pelargir Lothíriel knew something was afoot. For it was unusually busy and filled with local folk, who would normally be starting the days' labours and going about their own business. But now some rumour of strange events had drawn an audience to this place, and once she had pushed her way through the crowd with the help of well aimed elbows here and there, she saw the reason for commotion.

No less than three Amrothian warships were docked in the port. From one of them, what seemed like an endless stream of tall blond men was pouring out along with great horses of the North. Two remaining were flanking the corsair ship and men wearing the blue and silver of Dol Amroth were crawling on its deck like ants on their hill. They were already disarming those of the crew that had been left behind to mind the ship. She had not heard any fighting on her way here, so she assumed the struggle had been very quick or the corsairs had simply surrendered against such overwhelming odds.

The final and perhaps most surprising fact was the fourth ship, smaller than those from Dol Amroth, but fairly made; in its mast flew the White Tree of Gondor. King Elessar himself had come!

Lothíriel put aside her astonishment and elbowed her way further, much to the annoyance of the folk watching this scene. Her side was stinging worse now and when she touched it, she felt it was damp with blood. Well, it didn't matter anymore. Her task here was close to end.

She spotted one man who looked like an Amrothian officer overseeing the delivery of horses from under the deck, and approached him stealthily enough to avoid the notice of the rest of the company; when his eyes fell on her, he looked surprised.

"Stand back, lad!" he barked the command, but she lifted her right hand in a gesture of consolation. The other hand she kept on the wound to keep it covered. Blood-stained strangers rarely made a good first impression. Well, at least it wasn't bleeding very badly.

"I need to speak with your captain. I have some news on the Rohirric king", she told him swiftly. The man's eyes widened. Either he had been ordered to watch out for one like her, or he was smart enough to understand no commoner of Pelargir would know that King Éomer was indeed here.

He turned quickly at another man by his elbow.

"Go and get Prince Amrothos. He will want to hear this. And where's that Captain Éothain? Sweet Uinen beneath the waves, can anyone keep track of these blond madmen?" said the officer anxiously and his second in command darted away. Lothíriel refrained from grinning. So her brother was here! And Captain Éothain, Éomer's right hand, had come too! Yes, this was good.

"Well, I usually find it moderately easy", spoke a deep voice to her right. There came a Rohir Lothíriel had not seen before. He was built like an ox, this one was, with a head of bright yellow hair. He was arrayed in full armour and a fine green cloak she would have loved to examine closer. In his blue eyes a restless fire was burning, but his features were stern and serious.

"Captain Éothain! This lad here says he knows something about the King Éomer", the officer announced, an immediately the pair of blue eyes were fixed on her.

"Is he here? Is he safe?" the captain demanded straight away.

"Yes, I would like to know that too", another voice added. Now Lothíriel saw her brother approaching quickly, almost running as he came. Only brief widening of his eyes revealed that he knew her indeed and would have wanted to greet her properly. But he knew better than to reveal their connection.

"I'm afraid I do not know whether he is secure right now or not. And I fear the worst", she said in low tones. The faces of three men before her showed worry and alarm that she too knew well. Lothíriel explained quickly the events of past couple days, omitting only what had happened between her and Éomer, for that information was not relevant to the situation at hand.

"So he is out there, alone", said Captain Éothain when she had finished. His voice sounded positively dangerous and she shuddered. If he decided _she_ was responsible for this...

"Yes, but if you send a request to close the city gates-" Lothíriel started, only to be cut off by Amrothos.

"Already done", he said sharply. When he wanted, he could be quite efficient, never mind his frivolous ways.

"... well then, why aren't you already searching the city?" she said, making all three snort.

"We are getting to that presently", the captain muttered. "My men will be ready any moment now."

"Father and King Elessar will want to hear this, too. Don't wander anywhere. They're talking with the lord of the city now, but they will be here soon", said Amrothos. He looked at the Rohir, "We have almost finished searching the Southron ship. It seems most of them are out there, looking for Éomer."

The Captain growled a curse under his breath.

"He could already be dead", he said in a low voice, putting in words what they all feared now. Lothíriel shuddered once more and looked down. If Éomer died… well, it would be her fault. She had promised to save him, to get him back to his friends, and yet in the end she had failed!

At least, something that could potentially be helpful occurred to her then.

"Wait", she said to the captain as he was turning to speak to his own men. "My lord, why don't you tell your men to blow their horns? If Éomer is close, he will hear it and know that you are coming. Perhaps it could help to lead him here."

The captain looked at her and nodded.

"Yes, that is not a bad idea. Let us hope he is still alive to hear it", he said stiffly and went along to give orders to the Riders of the King's Guard. Tall men they were, with long blond manes, and armoured from head to toe. She looked in appreciation at these fierce warriors and thought it must have been a sight indeed when they had ridden over the Fields of Pelennor. Had the corsairs met them in open fight… well, there would never have been any trouble to begin with, and Éomer would be quite safe right now.

In a couple of minutes they all lifted their horns and like she had proposed, they gave a mighty blow so that it seemed like the entire city was ringing with the sound. Now all of them had landed, and while the echo of their horns still sounded, they were already riding forward in pairs. When Lothíriel glanced to her brother, she saw his eyes were moist.

"It still gets me", he sighed and shook his head. Seeing her quizzical expression, he went on to explain, "I was there in Minas Tirith when the Enemy's armies were besieging the city. I heard the horns of North at dawn. Had you been there, you would know."

"That is all good and well", said Lothíriel anxiously, "But do tell me, how come you are here now?"

"Aunt got your message and delivered it to Father. We set sail for Pelargir at utmost speed, as we feared what schemes those pirates could still come up with. And rightly so, it seems. Captain Éothain insisted to come along with his men and frankly, it was probably better to take them with us than to leave them in Dol Amroth and let them tear it apart in their leisure", he explained quickly. They both made a face when imagining what chaos a bunch of restless Rohirrim could come up with.

He then continued, "In fact, we arrived only some twenty minutes ago. There was some mist on the river, which covered us enough to get here before the pirates even guessed anything. My Swan Knights were ordered to seize the corsair ship, while Éothain was to get to the safe house at once while the guards of the city would be searching for the rest of the pirates. But that plan is null now. And it so happens King Elessar's ship was already here when we came. He is most worried for his friend and was sailing for Dol Amroth, but changed his plans when he saw our arrival. I explained the contents of your message to him, and then the lord of the city arrived to find out what this all is about."

"Well, I only hope it will be enough. He is out there all alone, Amrothos. I should be with him. If something happens…" she muttered, trying to swallow the lump that had lodged itself in her throat.

Her brother's eyes were sympathetic and he reached to squeeze her shoulder.

"Don't be stupid, sister. You got him safe and sound this far, and that is no small feat. Let us take it from here. And his men are very competent and they have been dying to blow out some steam. They'll find him", he reassured her. She managed to give him a half-hearted smile.

One of the Swan Knights came to speak with Amrothos, and he turned away from her for a bit. But when he looked at her again, he seemed more serious again.

"By the way, you should get on board. _She_ is here and wants to see you", he said in a low voice. Lothíriel looked at her brother in surprise.

"She came here with you?" she asked in wonder.

"Yes. Don't ask me why. I'm sure she has her reasons", Amrothos said and shrugged.

Something cold shifted in her stomach, though she didn't know why. As another of his men to speak with Amrothos, Lothíriel turned. Almost as though by an instinct, her eyes were drawn to the deck of the very ship that had previously spilled out a band of wrathful horselords. The cold had now reached her breast, awakening a sense of foreboding as it spread.

There, on the deck of the proud Amrothian ship, stood Lady Ivriniel, and her tall and slender form was a dark silhouette against the bright light of dawn.

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** Here is a new chapter! I hope you enjoyed it. :)

Originally I meant to take this one a little further, but the chapter kept growing bigger and bigger and there was still a bunch of stuff I wanted to cover, and so this seemed like the most natural place to cut it. I know, we continue on a cliffhanger-y note, but what can you do?

I particularly liked writing Lothíriel's bit when she's trying to figure out where Éomer has gone. But Éothain's POV was nice too, though poor man just doesn't seem to get a break! Also, I do admit I am pleased to bring Ivriniel back to spotlight.

Thank you for reading and reviewing!

* * *

 **HannahKathleen -** I do my best!

 **Tibblets -** Plenty of someones turned up, as it appears! :)

 **Merakia -** I'm glad you liked it! Also don't worry - there's still plenty of stuff I need to talk about! Ivriniel has now arrived, but we'll see who will be talking with whom!

 **Doranwen -** No such luck, I'm afraid. But help has now arrived. We'll see if Éomer can hold on until his Riders can find him. :)

 **Jo -** What can I say? I love my cliffhangers! :D

 **A -** He's coming, alright! We'll see how it all goes. :)

 **Anon -** Yes, I agree with you. I think it's pretty clear for them both, once they have made up their minds and have figured out what it is they want. In that, I think they are very well matched. And Éomer does strike me as a no nonsense kind of guy, so it's good if I've managed to convey that!

 **Katia0203 -** Plenty of ways till we can get there, though! There may be still more obstacles ahead than meets the eye. ;)

 **Wondereye -** Yes, those villains weren't just going to give up nicely!

 **Nerdanel -** Indeed, things were going so well for them! But it's what it is. Here's a new chapter though, I hope you didn't die while waiting for it! :D

 **Knight of Stags -** I firmly disagree with your assessment. Yes, Rohirrim are big on honesty and honour, but there's no evidence those are things that can't be restored in their society. As a matter of fact, it seems to be the opposite. In the book _Two Towers,_ right after Gandalf has made his breakthrough with Théoden, Gríma Wormtongue is actually offered a second chance. In the scene, Gandalf states that Gríma once used to be a loyal man (in his own fashion) and Théoden gives him an opportunity to show he is true once more and ride with the King to war. So if Wormtongue, who has actively harmed Rohan and conspired to bring it down, can have a second chance, why doesn't Lothíriel get one? All _she_ has done is struggle to save the King of Rohan and use her skills to fight the enemies of Dol Amroth and Gondor. From Rohan's point of view, she has not actually done anything wrong. Everybody fails sometimes, and if Rohan was such a rigid society that you can never redeem yourself after a mistake, it would not be a viable culture.

And Lothíriel is in fact uniquely qualified to being Éomer's consort and queen: she understands the dark side of Men and is prepared to deal with it unlike most people. She knows its workings and ploys and it can't be used against her. If you think of it this way, there's no one better to make sure these schemes are not used against Éomer and Rohan. Her flaw can quite literally become her shield. She can fight these things in ways others can't - and she's finding maybe there's a person inside her who _wants_ to fight it.

Also I'm disappointed to hear that her remorse and growing conscience, her desire to embrace his ideals, don't mean anything. Almost from the moment she first meets Éomer, she begins to wonder and question her own actions and her very self. She starts to see the problems in what she does. And seeing these things, she begins to want to change and become something different. Lothíriel is not naturally this way: she understands honour and truth, has been familiar with these ideas since a child, and the more she is with Éomer, the more she _wants_ them. Because he's making her remember something about herself that her training was meant to suppress.

There is a deeper level to this and I've tried to drop hints about it. If being conditioned and groomed to think and act in certain way by someone you trusted as a small child means that you can never be free of it, that _you_ are forever guilty of the way you were manipulated, and that you should punished and mistrusted for the rest of your life because of your past... that's just cold. That's unjust. Because this is what has happened to Lothíriel. An adult she trusted has trained and manipulated her since she was a child, trying to mold her into a certain type of person. But I refuse to write a story where parental character's bad influence means that the target/victim can never get away from it. The story I'm trying to tell is one that you can change and become something better. That you don't have to be the victim of toxic people and behaviours for the rest of your life.

I'm big on second chances, personal growth and change. Considering Tolkien's religious views and how clearly they shine through, concepts of repentance, forgiveness and redemption are a part of the world he created. Encouraged by the message of mercy and pity and wisdom that is at the core of the original tale, I simply do not believe that based on your actions at one point of your life the rest of it must be doomed. If this is hard for you to accept, then I don't know what else to say.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

The events unfurled much like in a whirlwind after Éomer heard the horns of his guard in the distance. His first attempt was to follow the sound and find his riders, for he did not know any other reason Rohirric horns would be blowing in Pelargir unless they had come here and were trying to guide him back to them. Help had at last arrived.

But as it was close, it was still so far away. For he did not get far in his attempt to follow the sound before he ran into another corsair band, four of them this time. So, their nets were cast about the streets, and it was now a matter of time who got to him first. Whether the corsairs recognised the sound of Rohirric horns he did not know, but at least the likes of Shanum might abandon the idea of taking Éomer as captive, and pursue vengeance instead.

He was barely able to avoid contact with the four, who were now hot on his heels. Further behind, he thought he could hear shouting. Éomer sprang again, knowing he only needed to keep up this race until his men arrived. If Éothain had brought the entire guard, they could quickly cover a large area in the city. Even just two of them, fully armed and mounted, could hold up against several corsairs easily. He was sweating hard after already running for a lengthy period with only few rests and his mouth was parched. But the knowledge his friends were near kept him going.

Éomer dashed across a small, walled kitchen orchard and his pursuers followed him close. A few women cried out startled as this ragtag bunch stormed through. He leaped up a flight of stairs that lead to a terrace above the house, and for a second thought he was trapped. Luckily, the distance between this and a lower building's roof across the narrow street was not too far. He jumped, reckless enough to earn himself Éothain's lasting disapproval, and reached his destination easily. He looked over his shoulder to see the pirates hesitating at the leap. They did not have the benefit of his long legs or the foolhardy streak of Éomund's line. As though in testimony of that fact, his left foot nearly slipped on the roof tiles, but he managed to keep his balance. Éomer slid down at the other end of the building's roof and eased his fall by landing in wagon full of hay.

And when his feet hit the ground, he saw Shanum waiting for him.

The man looked positively murderous. His sword was bared in his hand and it was clear that if they should be left to it without any interference from other pirates or Rohirrim, only one man would be walking out of this place alive. While Éomer would otherwise been fine with this challenge, he knew he shouldn't kill the man. No doubt both Aragorn and Imrahil would be just as interested as himself to learn whether this rampant showing of the Black Serpent's sign meant that the southern armies were recovering and planning a new war against the realms of the North.

"Must we continue this chase? You know it's finished. My Riders will be here soon", Éomer said, his tone calm and even, though he kept his hand on the hilt of the sword.

"That is not your blade. Give it back", Shanum sneered, paying no heed to Éomer's words.

"I will give it up soon enough", said the Rohir. "And hopefully never come to a situation again where I must take my enemy's sword to defend myself."

"Not indeed", said his opponent. "For you will be dead! Just like the wench you were with!"

With that, the enraged man leaped at him. But Éomer was ready and met the attack with a steady hand.

"Where is she? What did you do to her?" he growled. If they had harmed Lothíriel somehow…!

"Simply what that two-faced hellcat deserved!" Shanum spat, and for a moment he had the upper hand while Éomer tried to get a grip of himself. But though panic for her sake throbbed inside his skull like pain, he reassured himself that had Shanum been telling him the truth, then he would take his time to torment Éomer with horrific descriptions what had been done to her - and to discourage him enough to make him fail. And though she was wounded, she was not helpless. Maybe she had woken up soon after he had gone, and either escaped or bested whoever had come for her…

He had to believe that.

Shanum had skill with blade, but wrath had overcome him and his attacks were less cunning than they could have been. Éomer let the man push him back, towards the other end of the street; he had seen from the roof it was wider and lighter than this one. There Riders could easily see him and come to his aid. And the faster this fight ended, the sooner he would be able to go and check on Lothíriel, make sure Shanum was just telling him a filthy lie.

But then, as they were only halfway to where this alley opened to the street, he heard two voices shouting Shanum's name from behind. Éomer risked a quick glance over his shoulder and saw a pair of corsairs coming at him, their blades ready to strike. He was trying to come up with some way to make it out of this one when a great shadow darkened the end of the alley. And then an arrow pierced the neck of the first man coming at him. The second met his end by spear soon enough.

Éomer barely dodged Shanum's stab. In his joy he nearly missed the next one as well, for now the great shadow had split into three smaller ones, and foremost of them was Éothain himself. The captain came riding and shouting abuse at his king, coming up with such ludicrous derisive names that Éomer could only laugh. Knowing what his friend must have gone through, he was glad to allow the man this moment of venting his frustations.

"Glad to see you too, Éothain!" he called out lightly. Now his answers to Shanum's attacks became more ferocious and it was his turn to push the corsair back.

Fixing his focus fully on his opponent, he spoke in hard tones, "Give up, Shanum. You cannot win this fight."

"I would rather die first!" was the growling answer. And Éomer deemed the man might just do that. Disarming him would take a much longer fight than the Rohir currently had time or stomach for, and so he glanced at Éothain, who was now hovering behind his back.

"So this one won't go down nicely. Might I ask for your assistance?" he asked. And as they had been brothers in arms for so long, Éothain had no trouble understanding the request.

"You might", said the captain and turned his spear swiftly in his hand. Then he used the blunt wooden head of it to strike straight in the middle of Shanum's forehead.

It was no trouble to shove the sword from his hand while he was dizzy and confused from Éothain's well aimed blow. Then Folcred, a Rider who had come with the captain, got down from the saddle and pushed the corsair down on the ground and held him there while the third one, Ceorl he was named, produced some rope to tie him.

Éomer stood there and had a breathless sort of feeling on him. It was finished at last.

Well, maybe not yet. Not while he didn't know if _she_ was all right.

Éothain dismounted as well and came to him in two long strides. His eyes were wide and his mouth a thin line.

"Are you unhurt?" he asked in a rough voice.

"I'm fine, Éothain", Éomer responded solemnly. He reached for the shoulder of his friend, "I'm very sorry. You have been through hell and it was my fault. I should have been more careful. I'll never put you through this again."

"You better not!" growled the man and then at last he grabbed his friend and king into a spine-breaking hug. As they were talking, more riders were flooding the place and filling it with noise. Many of them exclaimed in joy when they saw their king unharmed, and Éomer greeted them with smiles and waves of his hand.

He looked again at his captain, "Listen, I'm sure there's some place important you want to take me, but first we need to go and check on my… I need to make sure something first."

The captain offered him a crooked smile.

"Is that 'something' perhaps Imrahil's sneaky daughter? If so, don't you worry about her. I saw her in the port… we were going to ride for your hideout, but she found us before that and directed us to seek you on the streets instead", Éothain said and looked as though it all was something he still could scarcely believe.

Éomer let out a breath he hadn't noticed holding. So she was safe! He had guessed right, then. She had put up a fight and those pirates had been fools to expect nothing less. A surge of pride went through him. The woman was fierce, even injured.

"So Imrahil told you about her?" he asked his friend at length.

"Aye. It was difficult to believe, but considering you're here, alive and unhurt, maybe he didn't exaggerate. Even as I saw her, dressed like a boy as she was, I doubted", Éothain answered and shook his head again. "Mad bunch, eh?"

"Indeed", Éomer said and smiled. He'd take it no other way. "Shall we, then?"

"We shall. There's about thirty people back in the port who want to see you - Aragorn among them", said Éothain and quickly gave orders to four riders to get Shanum back to the harbour. Then he was already leading Éomer to the street.

"He came, too? Béma, I have turned the whole realm upside down, haven't I?" said the King of Rohan wryly.

"Oh, that you have. And this time I'm not the only one who lost ten years of his life because of your stupid antics", Éothain said sternly.

"Sorry", said Éomer again, quiet and humble. He knew Éothain was going easy on him - the man could have made him feel his guilt much more keenly than this. But his mood grew lighter when he saw Firefoot being lead to where they were standing. The stallion snorted loudly and nearly yanked himself free, but he calmed when Éomer reached for him.

"I missed you too, old friend", he murmured to Firefoot as he ran his hands across the animal's powerful neck. He cast a glance at Éothain, who was mounted again and ready go forth once more, "Thank you for bringing him."

"What else could I do? He'd have torn apart Imrahil's stables and how would that have looked like? His master has already caused the good prince enough excitement", the captain quipped, making Éomer laugh. Yes, things were getting back to normal.

Before he and a small company of Riders made for the harbour, Éomer gave orders for the rest of them to keep up the searches. Only five corsairs had been found so far on the streets and more should be still making their desperate attempts either to flee or to hide. He wanted all that could be caught rounded up so that Imrahil could deal properly with the lot. That should discourage their ilk back in Umbar from attempting something like this again.

When that was taken care of, he and Éothain and the knights with them started for the harbour. The captain relayed him the tidings of past few days and how they had hastened from Dol Amroth as soon as Lothíriel's message had arrived. He explained their initial plan of coming to get Éomer at the safe house, and how Lothíriel's arrival had rather changed it. The young king listened and was glad that she had not only got away, but also helped out his captain and the Swan Knights. And he he owed her his life twice over. If Éothain and the Riders had gone to the safe house instead of coming to look for him, it might have given the corsairs enough time to catch Éomer.

"She is quite resourceful indeed. And brave as well. I have never met her like", he stated softly to his friend. Éothain regarded him with a faint smile - the first real one since finding his king on that dim alley. He already saw where this was going.

"You like her, don't you?" he inquired.

"Do you have to ask?" Éomer shot back. He could not hold back a grin, however foolish it was. Truth was, he couldn't wait to see her. There was so much to tell her, and he wanted to know what had happened after he had left her. And that was something he wanted to apologise for, as soon as possible. Had he known what peril waited outside the walls of the apartment… well, it had been unnecessary pain for her.

Yes, there was much to say. And the sooner they were reunited, the better.

They reached the harbour then, and Éomer saw it was quite crowded. Not only common folk had come to see the King Elessar and Amrothian ships, but also what little nobility lived in this city, and he assumed they would feel even more astonished to see _him_ make an appearance. One thing was sure, at least: this day was an incident that would long be remembered in Pelargir. What would be the story that came out of these events? Even he was not yet sure.

Then as they came closer, Éomer saw Aragorn at the quay, talking with Imrahil and Amrothos. But the man turned when he heard the approaching horses and his face lit up. Imrahil looked supremely relieved as he lifted his hand in greeting, and Amrothos grinned and waved in enthusiasm at the Rohir.

"Éomer!" Aragorn called out his name. Relief was quite clear on the man's features as he came to meet the Rohir. Éomer smiled as he met his friend and brother. He knew that if Aragorn should ever pull such an act and vanish without a trace, Gondor would be in such disarray as no one wanted to imagine. But then, he was much too smart to get himself into trouble like that.

"Aragorn", he answered the greeting of his friend and but for one thing he was at ease. He looked at his friend, "All is well now, I can assure you."

Aragorn smiled.

"That is good to know. And I'm glad to see you unharmed, brother. Before I came here, I already had so many ideas about what had happened to you, and none that I liked", he said and shook his head. But then his expression softened once more, "But come now! We have much to discuss."

"Aye", Éomer agreed and threw a glance around himself. "Where is Lothíriel? I'd like her to join us."

"We saw her five minutes ago. She was telling us of what has happened to the two of you lately but then I noticed she was bleeding and sent her to see a healer. I imagine she'll join us later", said Imrahil as he stepped closer. He didn't seem surprised Éomer would talk so familiarly about his daughter, but on the other hand, he probably knew formality was impossible after sharing such an adventure.

"She was bleeding?" Éomer asked in concern, at once wondering if she had taken more injury since he had left her sleeping. Shanum had said she had been killed, which he assumed meant people had been sent after her...

His gaze flitted uneasily between Aragorn and Imrahil's faces when he asked, "Is she hurt?"

"It was an earlier wound from your skirmish with the pirates - it had opened while she was making her way here. Do not worry, Éomer. It didn't seem serious", Aragorn reassured him gently. Hearing this, the Rohir was able to relax somewhat. He was still anxious to see her, but at least he knew now she was safe and sound.

Few more things needed to be taken care of: Éomer sent most of his men again to help with searches around the city and Shanum and the pirates captured so far were taken to their cells under the deck of Amrothos' own ship. A pair of Riders, those of the fastest of his company, were at once sent to bring the good news to Éowyn in Ithilien and Éomer's council in the Mark. Then Aragorn lead him to his own vessel and there in a light cabin they took luncheon, accompanied by Éothain, Imrahil and Amrothos. Over it, the Rohir explained more in detail all that had happened since he had been taken captive. Éothain's expressions varied between outraged and despairing, and Éomer guessed he was in for a scolding he wouldn't soon forget once his captain got to him alone. But Amrothos seemed highly entertained by the story, while Aragorn was calm and serious. Imrahil seemed at times like this all brought him near physical pain.

"That is about it", he said at last when he had given his tale. He looked around the faces of his friends, "I imagine Lothíriel could add a few more things, though."

"Quite the adventure you have had, brother", Aragorn remarked, leaning back in his chair.

"Indeed. For my part, I must apologise for what happened. It is not acceptable that a friend and ally should be in such danger in our own city", Imrahil said in grave tones. It looked like this affair had very seriously tried his peace of mind. He went on, "Whatever amends you deem appropriate will be made, Éomer. I only wish that the friendship between our peoples can be retained even after these events."

"Don't worry about it, Imrahil. I don't blame you for what happened. And I'm not blind to all the ways you and your family have struggled to help me. Without your daughter I wouldn't be here", Éomer said and offered a smile to his friend. Imrahil returned it, but the Rohir had a feeling it would be a while until the prince would be back in his usually composed spirits.

"Have you given any thought what you will tell of all this to your own people?" Aragorn asked then.

Éomer sighed. There had not been a chance to talk with Lothíriel about what he was allowed to reveal beyond his circle of closest friends and family. Well, in the very beginning when he had still thought her a boy, she had insisted her part should remain a secret as much as possible. He didn't see how that had changed in any way.

"Not much", he said now, rubbing his temple with one hand. "I'm not sure what to say of all this."

"If you ask me, I believe my sister and aunt won't like the idea of full exposure. You'll understand why that is", Amrothos said solemnly and toyed with a glass of wine between his fingers. "But I don't think they would mind if you just say that my father's spy helped you out. That's not a lie, isn't it?"

No, it wasn't. And yet Éomer felt like it wasn't the truth, either. He frowned and looked down. Indeed, what story could he tell? What would make sure that his people were appeased to and asked no questions that would force him to lie? All this had seemed so irrelevant while he and Lothíriel were busy trying to survive. Now that peril was past, he understood the importance of this issue.

He thought of what Uncle would do. Yet the memory of the dear old man did not bring the help he needed. Théoden had fallen in nets of lies and manipulations, until Gandalf pulled him out… but even then, when Éomer had been ready to take his own sword and smite Gríma Wormtongue, Uncle had actually offered a chance to the snake to redeem himself and prove that he was true. And years before that, when Éomer had been but a young and eager captain, he remembered coming across his uncle at a late hour when the man stood staring over the moonlit plains of the Mark. He had asked what was the matter, and Théoden had merely given him a sorrowing little smile before answering: " _There are things a king may only speak to the Moon, sister-son."_

If it meant anything, it was that a king might have a few secrets of his own.

Then again, if Lothíriel was to leave this life and come with him to Rohan… did it matter if all was revealed? For there didn't seem to be anyone to carry on the work. The Lady Ivriniel was now unable to assume the role again and all the talks he had had with Lothíriel since his proposal had explicitly proposed that the Queen of Rohan could not go sneaking and spying around. Well, in any case it was not his decision to make if her identity was revealed or not. It was her secret to keep, if she chose so. Even with it, she was still the daughter of Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth and this was a fact that the world knew well.

Maybe that was all that mattered.

"I will have to talk about it with her", Éomer said at last and raised his eyes again. "But at any event, I owe her my life. It is because of her that I sit here now and am able to go back home again. For that, the least I can do is hold my silence, if it is what she asks of me."

"What of your people back in Rohan? Will Rohirrim be content with having you back, or do you think they will expect something more?" Imrahil asked then warily. Aragorn leaned forward in interest as well.

"I hope that they will be too caught up with relief to think of anything else. It will help that so many of the culprits have been caught... I expect they will be dealt with according to your laws?" Éomer asked his Gondorian friends and was accompanied by an agreeing grunt from Éothain.

"Absolutely, brother. An attack against you is an attack against us all", Aragorn said gravely.

"Then my expectations are met", said Éomer and idly tried to smooth down his beard. He smiled wryly, "As far as I'm concerned, if there was any redeeming the House of Dol Amroth ever needed to do, Lothíriel has delivered it in full. Thus there is no need to stir bad blood between me and you."

Imrahil looked to be more at ease when he heard that and Aragorn smiled. He glanced at the Prince, eyes glimmering good-naturedly.

"Your daughter did well, my friend. I promise that her efforts will be remembered in the Citadel of the White City, even if the world can't know what she did", he said solemnly.

"She has made me proud indeed", Imrahil spoke softly. Then he seemed to shake himself and he looked at his son, "Amrothos, could you go and see what's keeping her? I believe she should be here as well, so that we might hear her account."

"Right away, Ada", said the young man and he hurried out. Éomer raised an eyebrow as Amrothos went. Not only had the man been unusually quiet, he was also surprisingly complacent. But he guessed it had to do with what had happened. Perhaps Amrothos' usually high spirits were dampened by the unfortunate events of Éomer's capture back in Dol Amroth. The Rohir hoped he would cheer up again once this all was over.

But when Amrothos returned, it was alone. A slight crease furrowed his brow.

"Aunt is with her right now. She told me to get lost", he said and made a face. Imrahil frowned as well.

"Did you say that both King Éomer and King Elessar would like to see Lothíriel?" he asked his son, looking like he contemplated getting up and going to get his daughter himself.

"I did, but do you think that moves Aunt Ivriniel one way or the other?" Amrothos asked back and shrugged.

Imrahil let out a sigh and looked at the two kings with a beaten expression.

"I apologise on behalf of my sister. She... she can be quite self-willed. It is not to disrespect either of you", he said. Éomer held back a snort. Either Imrahil was trying to cover for his sister's lack of courtesy, or he was not even aware of how far her disdain went.

"It's fine. I'm sure they have a lot to talk about", he said in any case and waved his hand to dismiss his friend's concern. But with his own words, concern rose in Éomer's mind. What was Lothíriel going to tell her aunt? Was she going to relate the full extent of what promises she and him had made to one another? And if that was so, what would be Lady Ivriniel's reaction to the prospect of losing her pupil?

He was not allowed to pursue this line of thought further - and perhaps realise the entire dread of it. For it was in that moment there was a knock at the door, announcing the arrival of the Lord of Pelargir.

The matter of Lothíriel had to be put aside, as her part in these events was not known to the master of the city. Éomer felt uneasy. The plan had been to face Lady Ivriniel together… but it couldn't be helped now. He would see her soon enough, talk with Imrahil about betrothal, and turn his face towards what would hopefully be happier days.

Before that, there were few corsairs to deal with and allies to meet. Even so, Éomer knew already he would not be at peace until he had seen Lothíriel again.

* * *

King Elessar and Father got to Lothíriel before she had a chance to go and meet her aunt. The pair of them caught her on the quay and asked for news, which she delivered straight away; when she glanced back to the deck again, Aunt's figure had vanished. But soon enough the King of Gondor and Arnor noticed her injury and urged Lothíriel to go ahead and see a healer. Knowing there was nothing more she could do for Éomer, she took the King's advice and limped forth to where he had directed her. Father looked like he would have liked to hug her tight, but did not dare to do so when they were in the front of so many observing eyes. A look of concern appeared on his features when her injury became apparent; he even seemed like he might carry her there himself. But at least her feet still supported her and was able to get to her destination at last.

While the healer worked on her wound, uneasy feeling steadily grew in Lothíriel's stomach. She knew where she needed to go next. Aunt was waiting for her. The old woman might have withdrawn when King Elessar had appeared, but it was only a brief delay of inevitable confrontation. Soon enough noise from outside also betrayed the news that were confirmed a few moments later by one young lad who served on the ship: King Éomer had been found and he was meeting with King Elessar this very moment. Lothíriel felt like stone fell from her heart and she smiled to herself. Of course he would make it through! The man was ferocious indeed and could hold out against a bunch of pirates. Even so it was good to know he was safe again. He was close and she would see him soon. And perhaps Aunt would be on a good mood now that the mission had reached a successful end.

Well, there was nothing to it. She would have to face her aunt sooner or later, and later would be worse, because her mentor would not like it if she purposely tried to avoid her. It was odd, really. Never before now had Lothíriel felt like this when on her way to see Aunt.

So, after the healer was done with her and the wound was newly wrapped, she slowly made way back to the deck. There she inquired after the whereabouts of the Lady Ivriniel, and was directed to the cabin where the old woman was lodging for the voyage.

Even knowing that postponing it only made things worse, Lothíriel hesitated behind the door for a minute. It was all too easy to imagine what Aunt would think once she had given her report. The old woman would say she had made many mistakes: exposing her identity to Éomer, letting the corsairs keep up with their trail, getting injured, being separated from the Rohir and leaving him to danger once more, compromising the safe house, falling in love…

She sighed. With Aunt it never was enough to just say she had done her best.

Aunt Ivriniel's voice commanded her to step inside almost immediately when she knocked the door. Lothíriel did so, bracing herself for the confrontation. Abruptly she wished Éomer was with her, but he would be busy with King Elessar and her father and brother. And Aunt would never let him be in the same room while Lothíriel was reporting, anyway.

Lady Ivriniel was seated by a small, round window. She was doing some needlework and looking like a perfectly harmless aged woman. Yet wryly Lothíriel thought her kinswoman could probably even use the small needle to bring down a man, if she wanted.

"Well?" Aunt asked swiftly, wasting no time in greetings. There was no surprise on her face, as though she had known this was the exact moment Lothíriel would return.

"He's safe. I brought him back", said Lothíriel, though she imagined Aunt had also heard the noise from outside and guessed its meaning. She could not help a small self-satisfied smile, even if she knew her aunt would not appreciate such shows of smug complacency.

"As you very well should", Aunt said coolly and focused on the piece of fabric in her hands. She spoke in a lower voice, "Report."

Like she always did, Lothíriel began to speak and describe the events of her mission. She explained what had taken place, how she had managed to free the King of Rohan, and how they had made their way to Pelargir. Then she spoke of the days spent there and how they had got separated, until Lothíriel had reached the port and directed Éomer's men to look for him. Aunt listened in silence until she finished.

After Lothíriel had spoken, was her mentor's turn. Now Aunt put aside her needlework, assessed her actions and gave her own statement on how she deemed her niece's accomplishment. As Lothíriel had feared, Aunt was mostly focused on pointing out all the ways she had done wrong. The old lady kept going on, and apparently she couldn't decide whether her worst mistake had been revealing herself or compromising their hideout in Pelargir. She spoke sharply and her voice resembled whiplashes.

Before now, Aunt's criticism had been easy to take even when it was harsh. With cold calculating mind, Lothíriel had considered her mentor's observations and seen their worth. But now... now it was so _hard_ to take. It felt like it was personal. And when she spoke of Éomer... she tried to keep her account unemotional, but Aunt saw right through her. She saw what the Rohir already meant to her.

"So, you took one little trip with a handsome man and it made you as ridiculous as any brainless courtier", Aunt commented at last, and no noblewoman had seemed as cold or threatening as she did then, resting her hands in her lap and staring at her niece.

"It's not like that, Aunt. He's not some stupid man who only thinks about dallying with young ladies. He is _good._ He wants me", said Lothíriel and fiercely thought of the moment Éomer had asked for her hand in marriage. It had been real, for he did not do things he didn't feel truly. Even if nothing else in her life was so, that moment shared with Éomer was _pure._

But Lady Ivriniel did not seem impressed. She let out a loud, harsh laugh.

"Poor, sweet Lothíriel", she said, her voice cutting like a sword. "What did he promise you? Was he telling you he would make you his queen? That he would love you? How naïve can you be, child?"

"He has asked me to marry him", Lothíriel announced firmly. She stood there as straight as though a plank was propping up her back.

Aunt looked so unimpressed that not even Lord Denethor could have surpassed her expression of cool discontent. There she sat, one eyebrow lifted, and her mouth a stern line. One might think Lothíriel had just blurted out a particularly offensive joke.

"Then he is a fool", said Aunt at last in that same cool tone. "And you are a fool as well if you actually believed him."

"That's not true! He meant it. He wants it for real. As do I, Aunt! I want to marry him", said the younger woman in a tone as belligerent she could manage. She knew her words did not even begin to sound convincing, but on the other hand, she wasn't sure what kind of argumentation it even took to make Ivriniel change her mind.

Aunt's lips grew pale and tight and she gripped the armrests of her chair so tightly that her knuckles grew white.

"And that's what you think will happen? You will marry him and go be his little wife in Rohan? Pop out a few straw-haired children who'll be as loud and absurd as him?" asked Aunt harshly, and Lothíriel felt heat rising up her neck and all the way to the roots of her hair. Her head throbbed with both anger and embarrassment on Éomer's behalf. How dare the woman speak so! How could _she_ understand any of this?

"Yes! I'm going with him because he _wants_ me! He doesn't tell me what I must be or try to control my every move! Éomer wants me for who I am!" she exclaimed. In that moment, she felt a burning in her breast, and she _wanted_ this – she desired the life Éomer had promised her so fiercely that it felt like it would make her burst. No matter how unrefined Aunt made it sound like with her words, Lothíriel did not see how it could be wrong or ugly. She loved the idea of a green country far away from all these shadows, living there with him by her side, and fair-haired children, borne of her body…

All this and more she wanted to say to her kinswoman. But somehow her tongue felt like lead in her mouth, and all that came out were just the kind of things that would only make Aunt further convinced that her niece was being stupid and fanciful. She couldn't speak. Why was it so hard to argue for herself now? Why wouldn't the words come out of her mouth?

The old woman laughed. It was a low, ugly laugh, and her eyes were freezing cold.

"He _wants_ you? What makes you believe that, child? Haven't I told you enough times how full of _nonsense_ men are?" she asked her niece sharply.

"Not him!" Lothíriel answered swiftly. Her hands pressed into fists and she stared hard at her aunt, wishing - _aching -_ for the words that truly described what she felt.

"Not him? How can you be so sure? You have only known him for a few days! It can only be infatuation. You _know_ this in your heart", Aunt Ivriniel said calmly. Her cool, grey eyes kept Lothíriel as a prisoner. She went on, "He may like and want you now. You are a novelty to him, like an exotic bird or a puzzle he has not yet solved. Men are always fascinated by things they haven't seen before. But that is only until he gets what he wants. Novelty will wear off and the mystery laid bare before his eyes. He won't like what he will see. And then he will grow to resent you."

"Resent me?" the young woman whispered. Her voice came out much more uncertain than she would have liked.

"Yes! He will resent you! Because you are stronger than him – stronger than any man. You are not hindered by things that bind him. And men cannot stand having wives who have stouter hearts than themselves", Aunt stated harshly, like she was teaching some truths about the world to an ignorant child.

"You don't know him", Lothíriel tried to raise her voice, clutching her hands together when there was nothing else to hold.

"I don't need to know him. You have told me enough", said Aunt and her voice grew hard and cold. She continued, "And even without that, he's a _man._ What have I told you all these years, child? You can't let one of _his_ kind distract you. For you are worth so much more than that. Will you let all your potential go to waste with him? Ruin all we have because of some horse-riding warrior?"

"Aunt..." whispered Lothíriel in a thin voice. She felt like one who has been caught in the web of a giant spider. And they _were_ spiders, she and Aunt, and such could never have a future with someone like _him._ He was meant for sunlight. He was as bright as she was dark.

"You are my heir, Lothíriel. Would you let my legacy go to waste just because you fancy some foolish male? Would you betray all those who have come before you for the sake of one man?" Aunt Ivriniel asked her gravely. Her grey eyes were like ice and steel and they burned Lothíriel where she stood.

Perhaps her aunt was right. Perhaps she could never be what Éomer wanted... be the woman he thought he saw in her… and it terrified her, the idea that some day he would look at her and hate what he saw. That would be worse than never having his love at all.

Ivriniel stood up and came to her, moving stiffly without her cane. She laid her hands on Lothíriel's shoulders and for the first time, there was some gentleness on her features.

"I know it hurts. There is only disappointment in trying to reconcile these two worlds - it is something we all must learn sooner or later. But once you learn to leave his world and its temptations behind, you will become free in ways you did not know before", Aunt spoke to her niece. Almost her voice sounded like a song.

Lothíriel could not answer anything, not beyond a miserable little sigh when she bowed her head. Ivriniel's arms, still strong and wiry after her long career, wrapped about her shoulders.

"You belong with me, child", Aunt whispered in her ear. "You belong in the shadow. It is what we both have known for so many years… why would you want to give it up? It is garish out there with him, and you will find you are trapped in a loveless marriage, hating him and your own self more and more as years steal away from you. How could you possibly manage as a queen? Your life will grow bitter in a strange country that will never understand you. But _I do._ I am your only true friend, Lothíriel."

And with those final words Aunt's voice grew very soft and tender.

"I am the only one who loves you."

* * *

It was already evening when Éomer could finally go look for Lothíriel. By that time, his anxiety had grown almost too much to bear. Where was she? Why hadn't she joined the company? Surely her aunt would not require her presence this long! Well, she had been bleeding when she had got here, so maybe the healer had commanded her to get some rest. That possibility worried him deeply, too. It took great effort to be able to follow conversations around him and answer others' questions, and eventually he excused himself, telling his friends he needed to take care of something important. Aragorn smiled knowingly - he had already put together two and two from the few words they had been able to exchange in private - and Imrahil too seemed to suspect something. Éothain said nothing but followed his king with a very satisfied expression. Éomer guessed in his captain's book, the best possible outcome of these events was getting his king safe, sound, and married.

Soon enough Éomer encountered a major problem: no one he spoke on the Amrothian ships seemed to know what had become of the spy who had arrived this morning. He met only incredulous faces and wondering looks. Why would the Rohirric king want to still affiliate himself with reminders of his recent misfortunes? Surely a sensible man would want to forget about all of it, and at any rate what use could some spy still be to him?

Éomer started to lose his temper. This was ridiculous! It was no one's business what he wanted with his helper, and anyway it had already been far too long since he had last seen her. He still hadn't made sure she was truly fine, or spoken of what had happened to her, or apologised for disappearing… and he hadn't yet got a chance to talk to Imrahil with her! It was maddening.

And his growing impatience was being noticed; another officer arrived and tried to shush him, and Éomer would probably have raised his voice or told Éothain throw a few unhelpful crew members into the river, hadn't Amrothos hastened to the scene to find out what was the matter. If he had not been in such ill mood, Éomer would have made some kind of a jest about Amrothos and his kinsmen walking on eggshells around him.

"Éomer, my friend! What seems to be the problem?" Amrothos asked in concern. Next to him, the officer Éomer had been bullying looked immensely relieved to have someone else take care of the irritable horselord.

The Rohir breathed deeply in and out, trying to calm his mind. He still owed her the secrecy she required and he could not go announcing the truth about her to the whole world. So he did not answer until he was sure he could keep his voice down.

"I'm just trying to find your sister, but no one seems to know where she is", Éomer told his friend from between gritted teeth. A sense of foreboding had come to him. So many hours had passed since they had both arrived at the harbour, and yet she still had not come to him… had something happened to her? Was her aunt to blame?

"Give me a moment", Amrothos said right away and turned to speak with the officer in hushed voices. Then another man was fetched, and the three spent a while talking quick and quiet. Éomer crossed his arms across his chest and tried to remain patient. It felt unreal. He had seen Lothíriel only this morning, and yet it seemed like many days had passed since then… his hands itched to touch her, to hold her close, and make sure all was well. He felt so anxious, it was like his very skin could not contain it!

When Amrothos returned to him again and Éomer saw how serious and pale his friend's face had become, he felt his heart sink. The weight or disappointment and betrayal fell on him, so heavy that he feared his shoulders would collapse under it.

"I'm sorry, Éomer. My sister is already on her way back to Dol Amroth."

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** So... yeah. This happened. As ever, I got almost gleeful when writing yet another cliffhanger, but I am also very curious as to how you, my dear readers, will react to this one. It's not actually a turn of event I foresaw when first drafting the story. However, once I had had some rather important realisations about my first two chapters, and as I wrote further along, I also decided to go this route. I have been impatient to get to show and really explore this side of their relationship, and I'm thrilled to be here at last.

What's going on here, then? Simply said, Ivriniel has returned, and she's going to hold on to her favourite toy with teeth and claws! And this is something I can't go into here, not sufficiently at least. I tried to, but my thoughts turned into a proper essay of over 1500 words. So, to spare my own time and yours, I am going to post my study of characters and the dynamics of their relationships at my tumblr, which you will find at themoonlily dot tumblr dot com. But to summarise my very general conclusions here, basically the idea is that the relationship between Lothíriel and Ivriniel is actually fairly unhealthy and abusive, and the latter has been manipulating the former for many years now. And no one actually sees this. Éomer has some inkling, but he doesn't see the full picture, especially because he hasn't seen Lothíriel and Ivriniel together. He doesn't realise how much Lothíriel actually needs his help. I imagine that will also impact his reaction to this turn of events. Also, the fairly twisted relationship also means that Lothíriel is in fact almost entirely helpless against her aunt and without Éomer to support her, she simply can't reject Ivriniel's influence: she has been subjected to this conditioning for so many years that it's normal for her. And that is a very powerful shackle to bind her. But if all of this interests you more and you are curious to read my thoughts more in depth, please visit my blog for the much longer examination of these issues!

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

 **Doranwen -** Safe he is indeed! But looks like his troubles have not yet ended. ;) And you are quite right about the confrontation with Ivriniel!

 **Wtiger5 -** Yes, there would be no more effective way to get his full attention! And the moment in _Lord of the Rings_ when Rohirrim arrive to the Pelennor fields and blow their horns at dawn is one of my favourites, I still get goosebumps when reading it!

Also you raise some very good points about Éowyn! She does indeed abandon her post, which would probably be regarded as a huge violation, if she did not in the end slay a very important enemy. So it seems that such an end may justify unconventional means.

 **Katia0203 -** Thank you! I liked that moment, too. :) Poor Amrothos may be a bit more serious than before, but he can still be oblivious at times!

And you are quite right about meeting Ivriniel. That confrontation surely turned out very interesting.

 **EStrunk -** Glad you liked it! I think Éothain (at least in this version) takes the matter most seriously, especially now that Éomer has been danger for such a period of time! But I'm afraid reunion is not likely to happen any time soon now!

 **Guest -** Thank you! I wonder if this hits at all close to your theories. :) Of course, I'm always happy to hear what my readers think will happen!

 **silverswath -** Thanks! So many have reacted positively to it, I'm more and more convinced I'm doing this right after all! And this new chapter did turn out something unexpected, even for me!

 **Catspector -** Yes, it was the perfect thing to do at that time! I do hope you liked the meeting with Ivriniel, even despite the way it ended!

 **Merakia -** Reinforcements surely took care of the dangerous aspects, but there may be more troubles to come. But let's just say that Ivriniel was everything but happy at the beginning! I'm not sure if I'll write her POV, because for reasons that maybe shine more clearer in this chapter, I don't know if I could write her perspective in a way that would satisfy me.

 **Anon -** I hope she remains relatable, even though her submitting may seem disappointing! Unfortunately for Éomer, he doesn't suspect any of this is going on, and so doesn't go looking for her before it's too late.

Anyway, you are quite right. Ignoring the events of this chapter, she is quite qualified for the job of the Queen of Rohan. And as I have tried to previously express, rulers must walk some difficult paths that may not align with their own ideals.

 **Jo -** I'm sorry, I just keep deliverig cliffhangers! But at least they're both safe now - in a manner of speaking!

 **heckofabecca -** Thank you for your comments! Truly made my day. :)

I admit I like writing Ivriniel here, even in all her nastiness, and though I don't take her own POV. And I'm glad to hear you like the interactions! I have truly enjoyed writing them as well, because the setting here allows some interesting angles. I do think that Lothíriel, after the way she was trained and brought up by her Aunt, would have hard time choosing the path she wants to follow.

I definitely believe that trauma/abuse survivors should not be judged and viewed merely by that trauma/abuse! I have not been abused myself or gone through trauma, so I know I'm not the most qualified person to talk about these matters. If you ever see anything in my stories that is wrong or dubious in this regard, just let me know and I'll try to fix it! But even so, Lothíriel's journey is far from finished, and it may still contain some pitfalls. However it's far from finished!

 **Nerdanel -** I'm afraid I'm on a roll right now, as far as cliffhangers go! We'll see about that reunion. ;) And you were quite right to worry about Ivriniel!


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

 _July 3020, Dol Amroth_

Lothíriel was thinking of how calm it looked outside in the rain. She had always liked how it felt in Dol Amroth, fresh and sweet especially in the summer. In winter it could get harsh, but even then there was something comforting about rain. Sometimes she would go riding out there and when she got back, she would be soaked in rain and sea spray, and the scent of the sea would be in her hair for days.

"Sister?" a voice called her, but Lothíriel only startled when a hand reached for her own and the word was repeated right next to her.

She glanced around and saw Erchirion looking at her in concern. They were in the family's dining hall and were accompanied by Elphir and his wife and son. Father and Amrothos were not present, as they had not yet returned from Minas Tirith. Aunt was not with them either, but then again she rarely joined the company.

Things were now as ordinary as they could be. Elphir was running the city in Father's absence, and Erchirion had returned from the sea only a couple of days ago when tidings had reached him. He had already been away hunting for the corsairs when Lothíriel's message had arrived, and so he had not joined the party to sail for Pelargir. On the day of his return, Lothíriel had heard him complaining to Elphir how disappointed he was to miss all the fun.

Of course her brothers would think it had been in any way _fun._

"What is it?" Lothíriel asked now and felt her cheeks grow warm. Even little Alphros was looking at her with a curious expression, while the adults looked worried.

"You have barely touched your food", Erchirion pointed out carefully, glancing at the plate before her. Yes, she had a fork and knife in her hands, but truth be told she couldn't say if she had yet used them at all.

"I'm not that hungry, in fact", she said at length and put down the cutlery.

"How can you not be hungry? I think I could count the bites of food you've put in your mouth since coming back with one hand's fingers", said Aredhel, Elphir's wife. She was a warm, good-natured woman who had, upon joining the family, ended up mothering all three of her husband's siblings – some to a much greater degree than others, as Erchirion would pointedly say while considering Amrothos from under his eyebrows. Lothíriel had always liked her sister-in-law, though she was often too preoccupied with Aunt to spend much time with her.

Lothíriel smiled uneasily at them and tried to think of something to say. But her mind was so blank that the only thing she was able to say was a half-hearted _I'm fine._

It didn't convince anyone, of course. Her brothers and sister-in-law exchanged a look between themselves, before Erchirion spoke again.

"Lothíriel", he said gently, searching her face for… well, she didn't know _what._ "Lothíriel, did something bad happen with Éomer? Was he… did he hurt you somehow?"

She nearly jumped at the mention of _his_ name. How hard had she tried to banish its very echo from her thoughts! But she also felt shock that Erchirion would ever make such assumptions about _him._

"Of course not! Why would you ask that?" she demanded to know. Her voice sounded strangely fierce to her own ears.

"I was just wondering… you haven't been yourself ever since you and Aunt came home. I thought maybe you had quarrelled with him, somehow, or that he treated you badly", Erchirion answered a little uneasily. Elphir and Aredhel followed the conversation in dead silence.

Lothíriel looked away from her brother. What could she say to him? The truth was too much even to herself. Abruptly she felt there was certain sense in how Aunt avoided interactions: being reclusive meant never having to explain yourself.

Yet even as she thought of this, she felt fathomless despair.

"King Éomer never did anything wrong by me. He was perfectly courteous and pleasant and you shouldn't believe something so ill about the esteemed friend of our House. You are wrong to think I'm somehow not myself, Erchirion", she answered at last, and her reply was delivered so that even her aunt might be proud.

Erchirion did not seem fully convinced and Lothíriel bit back her grimace. She had been letting her family believe false things, then...

The thought suddenly came to her: everything about her life _was_ false.

"Are you sure?" Erchirion asked. He still considered her with that face that was starting to vex her. She shuddered. Her brothers had never questioned her before... before _him._

It was like _he_ had broken her. Well, at least she knew Aunt thought so.

"Absolutely", Lothíriel answered and conjured a smile. It was almost real this time.

Erchirion did not seem as convinced as in days before. But at least he asked no more questions and she was left to ignore most of the food before her. When it was polite to retire, she excused herself and went to climb to the western tower, which was her favourite place in her Father's palace. There, it was almost possible to imagine she was alone in the world.

As alone as Aunt allowed her to be.

When she looked over the ever restless sea, she allowed herself the yearning thought: _Oh, Elbereth, how I miss you._

* * *

The day he was set to leave Minas Tirith was damp and misty, far removed from the fair glory of summer Éomer had seen when he had first ridden south for Dol Amroth. It fit his mood well, though he suspected he wouldn't feel dry again until his company reached Edoras again.

It was also the time to say goodbye to Éowyn. She had joined the party at Emyn Arnen, where Imrahil's ship had stopped to pick up her and Faramir. It had been good to see his sister and spend some time with her. It had made him feel a little bit better. And Éowyn, with her sharp eyes and keen thought, had of course known from the first moment that something was wrong.

What could he do except tell her the truth – the whole, disappointing, _burning_ truth? That he had met a woman unlike anyone before her, he had wanted her, _loved_ her even, and she had left without as much as a goodbye. In the end, he meant so little to her that she did not deem him worthy of most basic courtesy.

He had been angry. He still was, and probably would be for some time. _Her_ betrayal made it long and intense, so that he thought he would choke on all the bitter hate. Yes, he hated her. Or, what she made him feel even now when she was gone.

All this he had told Éowyn, though in retrospect he was aware it had come out in some rather mad outbursts. He had ranted about how deceitful _she_ was in the end, how she had probably never felt anything for him – she had faked it just as she faked every other thing she did. He did not matter to her. The only thing she cared about was her aunt and whatever the old witch told her.

Éowyn had listened quietly to his story, and when he was breathing hard at the end of his account, she reached to hug him tight and tell him how sorry she was. He had felt slightly less abysmal, and thanked the Powers that at least he still had his sister.

Events in Mundburg were managed in stiff formality by him. He was aware his manner implied that he was not as forgiving as he said, which vexed Éomer himself more than anyone else. It was not that he _wanted_ to appear as though a bear that has been stuck with an arrow, but it was hard as ever for him to conceal his true feelings. Aragorn worried, of course, and so did Imrahil. So, to spare them the guilt and gossip as much as was possible, Éomer went as far as to give a speech at the banquet of his last evening in the White City, praising his friends and declaring his ill mood an outcome of some personal grievances. It was not like him to advertise his private thoughts in such a way, but right now Éomer did not _feel_ like himself, and he had no stomach to deal with a political disaster.

Altogether he was relieved that the visit was at last ending and he would be going home. During the long ride back to Edoras, he would not have to deal with curious courtiers or deceitful spies. Hopefully, it would help him to get himself back together again.

The one thing he did not look forward to leaving was Éowyn, his sister and only living family... the only person he had not lost.

In the morning of his departure, they took a walk together in the Citadel. Neither of them minded the damp weather – they were used to much worse back in Rohan. Éomer looked at his sister and noted how well she looked. Though she was a Princess of Ithilien now and a high lady of Gondor, she still arrayed much in the manner of the Riddermark, paying little heed to the fashions of her new homeland. Even in this grey morning she was radiant and there was a warm shade on her cheeks. She was happy, happier than in a very long time. Because of that, he could endure parting.

"You're quiet today", he observed at length, folding his hands behind his back as they crossed the Court of the Fountain.

She glanced at him with a weak smile.

"I'm just worried. Faramir and I were talking..." Éowyn said, her voice trailing off.

"It's fine. All this will be forgotten soon enough, by the next war at the latest. Imrahil is good at damage control and with Aragorn's support -" Éomer said and would have carried on, but Éowyn halted and touched his hand. He stopped as well and fell silent.

"No, it's not that. I'm worried about _you,_ brother", she said seriously. "It saddens me that you are so in pain. I've never seen you like this before."

He lowered his eyes and regarded the ground before their feet. He wasn't sure of what to say to her.

"If there's anything I can do..." Éowyn spoke in soft tones, but Éomer sighed.

"Would that you could, sister", he said and shook his head. When he spoke again, it was with the hint of that mad raving of when he had told her everything. "But I don't think anything _can_ be done. I was a fool and got burned. And _she_ is back with her aunt in Dol Amroth, where they both belong. No doubt they are having a good laugh about it right now. The Lady Ivriniel surely is. I can't believe she's Imrahil's kin."

"Yes", Éowyn agreed and a slight frown passed across her features. "She seemed like a proper menace, what little I saw of her at the wedding. But her niece... the way Faramir talks about her... I don't know. It just doesn't add up."

The last words, those about _her,_ almost sounded like Éowyn hadn't meant to say them out loud. He surely hoped she _hadn't._

"She's his cousin, of course he will think better of her than she deserves", Éomer said and tried to sound harsh. But even then, he couldn't say he had not had his own moments of doubt.

Her grey eyes, so like their mother's, were warm and compassionate and a little sad.

"Things may not always be what they seem, brother", she said softly and rested her hand on his forearm.

Éomer let out a harsh laugh.

"How right you are. _She_ is not what she seemed to me", he said and was full aware of how bitter he sounded.

"Perhaps there is more to it than you realise, dear brother", Éowyn simply said and then reached to hug him tight. He relaxed and wrapped his own arms around her as well, already feeling how much he'd miss her.

When she pulled back, she smiled slightly, "Write to me when you get home?"

"Of course", he promised and returned her smile. No matter his own disappointments, Éowyn _was. "_ I'll be back some time in August. Can you come to Mundburg then?"

"For my only brother? Always."

* * *

Father and Amrothos did not return home alone.

From talks between Elphir and Erchirion, she knew they had been to Minas Tirith, for the recent events had required extensive backwash and politicising. How much _he_ had been a part of those things, she could only guess. And generally, she tried not to imagine any thing _he_ would do. It was painful when she thought of him too much and, like Aunt would tell her, it would make it only more difficult for her to forget him. Still, no matter how hard she tried to push him out of her mind, he was there in her dreams almost every night.

Her brothers insisted they all go and welcome their father and youngest brother in the harbour, and Lothíriel saw no reason to refuse. So she made ready and joined Elphir and Erchirion to ride to the port. Today, she played the role of a well-bred princess, clothed in silk and silver. Even so, when she glanced at her reflection in the mirror, she noted how all colour had left her face.

Maybe she was fading and becoming a phantom. Well, at least that would be useful in her job.

She met her brothers in the courtyard. Elphir was giving orders to Swan Knights and stable hands were readying the horses. Her own steed was waiting already. It was a bit tricky to mount with her skirts, but Erchirion lent a hand and so she got up in the side-saddle fairly easily. Unbidden, thought came: _Éomer would laugh if he saw me now, sitting like a proper little lady in my proper little side-saddle!_

And almost as soon as that thought crossed her mind, her throat grew tight and her eyes began to sting.

"Lothíriel, are you all right?" Erchirion asked in concern. She hadn't noticed him lingering nearby.

She looked quickly at him and tried to mask her mood.

"I'm fine, brother. Really!" she told him pertly. Too pertly, almost.

His frown remained, but the matter was dropped as Elphir was calling for him and so he left his sister to her own devices.

Lothíriel sighed and pressed the reins tightly in her hands. What would it be like, if she _were_ that proper little lady, brought up with no knowledge of shadows and spiders... she would know all the songs and dances and carry flowers instead of knives, and her gift to the world would not be schemes or stabs in the dark, but joy and laughter and healing. That girl might have been in Minas Tirith at the end of the war and met a handsome young king, bright as dawn.

That girl might be with him even now.

She shook her head to get rid of these thoughts. It was useless to mourn the life that had been lost to her long before she even met him.

Their little company, composed of Imrahil's offspring and a few Knights to escort them, started for the harbour soon enough. Gazing down into the bay as they rode down the Hill of Princes, Lothíriel saw her Father's ship gliding softly towards the port. The proud banner of their House flew in the wind, announcing the arrival of the lord of Belfalas. She wondered what the reunion would be like. It all depended on how things had gone in Minas Tirith... what had _he_ told them? Had he revealed the full extent of their interactions? And if so, should she expect to be scolded and reproached by Father? If the King had taken offence from her departing in secret... if he had left Gondor in anger, it would be her fault.

She lowered her eyes. Aunt had told her not to worry about the man anymore. It didn't matter what he thought of her: they would not meet again and he would forget about it soon enough. And if her father and brother knew their job at all, they would assuage him. Lothíriel had silently agreed, but in her heart of hearts it all felt _wrong._ And in the darkness of her bedchamber, when it was night and she was truly alone, she remembered _him._ His skin under her hands, his lips looking for hers, dear little words and soft sighs... her last memory of him was as sweet as it was bitter, and not easy for her to forget. Why would it be any easier for him?

They reached the port at last and rode all the way to the docks to wait for Father and Amrothos. The ship was nearing the quay and on the deck full bustle was on. She saw her sire there, giving orders to prepare for landing. Lothíriel smiled weakly. How much would she be expected to listen to their tidings? And how much could she take?

She saw Amrothos too, and then a pair she had not expected. There was Faramir her cousin and by his side, stood a tall blonde woman. At once Lothíriel knew who she must be: Lady Éowyn whom he had married only this spring. The famous Slayer of the Witch-king... and _his_ sister.

Something akin to panic immediately began to hammer in her chest. Lady Éowyn was here! Why had she come? There would be no way to avoid her – she would have to meet the woman and perhaps spend time in her company. And so she would be surrounded with even more reminders of _him._ If he had met her in Minas Tirith, as was probable, he would have told her about Lothíriel. There was no way he would have presented her in positive light, and maybe Lady Éowyn would feel righteous anger on the behalf of her brother and let Lothíriel feel full force of it...

Lothíriel wanted to turn her steed and race away as fast as she could. But then a voice rose in her mind: she was being cowardly. This was not like her. Perhaps Lady Éowyn would be hostile, but she could take it and in any case, she owed no one anything. The King of Rohan was safe because of her and if his sister could not see any virtue in that, then it said more about her than of Lothíriel.

While these thoughts had preoccupied her, the ship had docked and now Father was stepping on the quay. Amrothos followed him, and then came Faramir and Lady Éowyn. Some unease grew again when she looked at the blonde woman, already looking for features that would remind her of _him._ And indeed, the White Lady of Rohan did have something similar about her cheeks and her mouth was the same as his. But her eyes were clear grey and her hair was a shade lighter than his deep gold. She was tall as well and had that same easy grace, manifesting in her movements. She was not the image of her brother, and yet one could tell they were close kin even without seeing them standing next to one another.

Then their eyes met and Lady Éowyn regarded Lothíriel with keen, curious eyes. Like the princess just minutes before, she seemed to recognise her without introduction. Lothíriel held her breath, waiting for a reaction. But then her cousin's wife did the most unexpected thing: she smiled.

"Father! Welcome home. I trust your journey went well?" Elphir spoke warmly, approaching their sire.

"Thank you, Elphir. It was as good as could be hoped. Things should be all right now, I think", Father said as he embraced his eldest. He looked at Erchirion and Lothíriel, "And I brought company, as you can see. Faramir insisted to come along. Here's Lady Éowyn, his wife. You have not met her, daughter."

Lothíriel bowed her head at her father and then directed her eyes at the tall woman again. She curtsied and spoke, "Well met, Lady Éowyn."

"Well met indeed, Princess Lothíriel!" came the response, which was perfectly friendly and warm. The Lady of Shield-arm stepped forward and continued, "For my part, we may leave formality here, kinswoman. And I know what you have done for my own blood family. However things may be, I can promise you that your efforts to help my brother have bought my lasting gratitude and friendship, even though we only meet now."

Éowyn was smiling again, but around her, the men looked a little surprised by her words. As far as Lothíriel could guess, _he_ had indeed shared the full tale with his sister, but the rest of them were not privy to the promises they had made... the promises _she_ had broken.

Lothíriel's heart ached.

Nevertheless, she was able to return the smile.

The company headed back for the palace when greetings had been exchanged. Éowyn lead her horse to Lothíriel's side at once and conversed in soft, pleasant voice. She was simply lovely and her warmth reminded Lothíriel of _him._ She felt uneasy and confused. So sure she had been that Éowyn would be hateful towards her, now she hardly knew how to react and what to say. Part of her wanted to ask what _he_ had told his sister about the misadventure, but she also feared what she might hear. She both yearned and dreaded the echo of his words.

"I cannot thank you enough for what you did for Éomer. You saved my brother. I promise this will never be forgotten in my house, even if it must remain secret to the world", said Éowyn now and Lothíriel felt her eyes on herself. She glanced at the blonde woman quickly.

"I only did what was right", she replied softly. She thought about saying the obvious things: how her family owed it after getting him in trouble, that he was too important, and friend and allies ought to be helped. But her voice would not obey. Today, she really was slow and sluggish and she could almost hear Aunt telling her to snap out of it.

Lothíriel could feel Éowyn's curious eyes on herself. She swallowed.

"Is he... is he well?" she asked at length in a small voice.

"He was hale when we parted in Minas Tirith. But he was not glad", Éowyn answered seriously, much more so than until now.

The princess bowed her head. She could imagine what he felt... the disappointment and betrayal that had marred what should be happy and relieved. _Her fault._

" _Don't blame yourself, child. He will get over it in due time. His dissatisfaction will only ease his way through it and in the end, he will thank you for the clean break. Now you are both free to go your ways and leave behind this unfortunate period",_ Aunt's voice echoed in her memory. So the old woman had said when they had sailed south and Lothíriel had wondered if the way she had left would cause him great pain... if she had done wrong.

"I am sorry to hear it", she said now, though she didn't look at Éowyn. "Despite all, I... I wish him well. I do not expect him to ever believe that, but... it's true all the same."

Éowyn was staring at her. Lothíriel felt as much, but she did not dare meet the woman's eyes. What did this lady of the north even see when she looked at her? What had she expected to find here?

Suddenly the White Lady spoke again.

"My brother bears many burdens", said Éowyn softly, though her voice hinted at grim memories. "He always has. Always knew that his would be a life of duty. Our life was not kind, Lothíriel – we lost our mother within the year our father was slain, and long we asked ourselves why would she abandon all hope of life like that when we needed her. And long we denied any hope to ourselves. I know there are things that never haunted me the way they haunt him. But you needn't be one of those burdens, if you don't want to be."

Lothíriel looked up sharply and at last met Éowyn's gaze. The Princess of Ithilien stared back solemnly but without judgement. It was as though she saw right through her.

The princess had no idea of what to say. But fortunately for her, she didn't have to: the company had now reached the courtyard of her father's palace. The talk with Éowyn and the bewildering thoughts raised by it had almost made her entirely oblivious to the world about. It was like her training to be sharp and aware of her surroundings at all times did not even exist! What was it about the two members of the House of Eorl that so pushed her off balance?

The stir in the courtyard offered her the perfect opportunity to slip away, and so she did, dreading what more Éowyn might say if they were to spend more time with one another. Once she was inside and tracing the familiar halls of her home, she wondered how long Faramir and Éowyn were going to stay here... how hard it would be to avoid the blonde woman. She frowned to herself. It wasn't like she _wanted_ to evade the White Lady: she had been perfectly pleasant, and deep down Lothíriel felt they might even be friends in a simpler world. But she knew what she ought to do. Aunt Ivriniel would never endorse such friendship, and Éowyn was _his_ sister. It was too dangerous.

But there were occasions she could not refuse joining, and such was supper later that evening. It was moderately harmless, thankfully. Faramir sat between Lothíriel and his wife and conversations remained general and pleasant. The princess was even able to relax a bit, especially when she saw how happy her cousin was. As a matter of fact, he was happier than she had seen him in a long time. And in his eyes she could perceive something to imply that he had made his peace with the loss of his father and brother.

One topic was unavoidable. Faramir and Éowyn wanted to hear more about the adventure with corsairs, and so did Father and Amrothos, who had only heard _his_ side of the story. But Lothíriel had known to expect it, and so answering their questions was easier than if there had been no time to prepare. Of course, her heart ached every time she spoke _his_ name, but she kept her face straight and her voice even.

There was talk she had dreaded and expected. Father and Amrothos spoke of their voyage from Pelargir to Minas Tirith and all the politicising that had taken place there. Éomer's unfortunate vanishing and return had been the talk of the city, but the man himself had made it clear he bore no ill will, and his friendship with Gondor remained. But Amrothos was shaking his head and saying that the Rohir had seemed so... _dispirited._

"It wasn't like him at all. He's always so bold and energetic and loud. And he seemed perfectly fine when we first found him in Pelargir. I wonder what happened, because after that he was so moody and downcast, I even thought if he _had_ taken insult after all and was angry with us", he mused out loud.

"If my brother was angry with you and your family, you would know", Éowyn stated dryly and lifted her glass to drink some wine.

"It has troubled me as well, I admit", said Father and the concerned expression appeared on his features. He looked at the White Lady, "Éowyn, I hope you don't mind me asking, but did he say anything to you? I imagine he would confide in you."

"I know you mean well, Imrahil, but whatever my brother has said to me is between us", she said evenly. Her tone was not stern, yet Lothíriel could tell she would not yield no matter who asked her to betray her brother's thoughts.

"Of course. Forgive me, I did not mean to pry. I'm just worried about him", Father said and offered a conciliatory smile to the blonde woman's direction.

"Perhaps Lothíriel knows what ails our friend", Elphir suggested and regarded his sister with a look that reminded her very much of Father. She felt heat on her cheeks and lowered her eyes.

Fortunately, Faramir came to her rescue and spared her from having to answer.

"I beg your pardon, but perhaps our curiosity is unseemly. Whatever troubles Éomer is obviously something personal and as his friends, we must let him reveal it in his own time. Until then, we must offer our friendship and support inasmuch he requires it. The real matter of import here is that he is safe and the crisis has been averted", Faramir stated, calm and steady, his voice filled with the quiet authority that had been his since he was a young man. Amrothos' face reddened as though he was embarrassed to have introduced this topic and Elphir too was taken aback. But others muttered in agreement, and Aredhel, graceful in manner as ever, directed the conversation to other paths by asking about the Queen Arwen, whom she admired greatly.

Lothíriel stared at her food. Éowyn had said _he_ was not glad... Amrothos thought he was dispirited... the mere idea made her heart feel twice as heavy than it already did. She wanted to – wanted to _be_ there for him, to comfort him, to tell him how sorry she was... she wanted to _see_ him so bad that it made her want to scream!

Aunt had said he was just fascinated about the puzzle Lothíriel was to him, and once novelty wore off, he would lose interest. But such superficial fascination did not cause sadness or pain, only fleeting disappointment.

She needed her mentor's guidance. None of this was making any sense. Her head felt like a million voices were screaming inside of it in a great cacophony. The path before her feet had never been more in shadow than it was now.

"Lothíriel?" Faramir spoke gently by her side and her head snapped up.

"Sorry. I was just..." she began quietly, though she wasn't even sure what she was going to say to him.

Her cousin smiled.

"It's fine. You looked so faraway, I wondered if I should to bother you or not", he said in friendly tones. As if being neglectful of one's guests was anyone's right! She met his warm, grey eyes and wondered at how much there was kindness and wisdom in him even after all the grief he had gone through. He was luminous in ways that defied everything Aunt had told her about males.

"So much has happened. I... maybe I wasn't as ready as I thought", she said very quietly.

Faramir considered her for minute before speaking. When he did, she did not quite understand his words.

"Maybe you're not the one who wasn't ready", he simply said and patted her shoulder.

With that, the conversation was closed. But Lothíriel thought of little else during the rest of the evening, and the food that passed between the plate and her mouth was scarce. She didn't feel hungry or eager for anything, and when the company rose and Father asked them to join him in his own parlour, Lothíriel slipped out before anyone had a chance to miss her.

The halls were quiet at this hour and she didn't meet other people when she made her way to the west wing. It was no wonder to her that Aunt had not made an appearance tonight. She did not care for entertaining guests, even if they were family like Faramir.

She knocked at her aunt's door and the familiar voice called her inside. Aunt was seated by her loom again and was weaving a beautiful dark blue fabric that looked like the night sky. The old woman glanced at her from under her brows before moving her gaze back to her quickly working hands and the weave. A fire was burning in the fireplace, though it was summer and Aunt hardly needed the heat. But Lothíriel figured her mentor liked it for the atmosphere.

"What is it, child?" she asked and gestured with her left hand at the arm chair on her side. The younger woman took it and sat down heavily as though after a long day of labour. Why did she feel so tired these days? Probably because when she could sleep, _he_ was always there.

"I was at dinner with my brothers and Father, and our guests... they were talking about..." Lothíriel began after some hesitating. She took a deep breath and continued, "There was talk about _him._ I don't know. I just wonder... it sounds like he is really very upset."

She had expected he wouldn't be happy. But the depth it seemed to go, judging by everything people were saying...

Aunt looked at her again.

"Why do you worry over something so menial?" she inquired coolly.

"It's just... what if I really did hurt him, Aunt? I... I don't want him to be in pain because of me", Lothíriel whispered. Her voice came out only with great effort, and the words she spoke cut even deeper when they were spoken instead of running as thoughts in her confused mind.

Lady Ivriniel scoffed out loud and examined the fabric she had woven so far.

"Men like to exaggerate their emotions, Lothíriel. All disappointments and griefs are like catastrophes to them. It makes them feel important about themselves, and it's an effective snare to get a soft-hearted woman to cater to them", she stated firmly.

Lothíriel frowned. It didn't feel _right_ to her, but this she only knew in her heart, not in a way that she could put into words. And Aunt would surely laugh at her if she tried to use her feelings as a justification. So she said nothing.

"So Faramir brought that new wife of his as well?" Aunt asked, having noted her statement was not going to be contradicted. Lothíriel wasn't surprised that her mentor knew Éowyn was here.

"Yes. We met in the port. She is very amiable. They seem very happy together", Lothíriel answered and felt something sting in her breast. She was surprised to realise it was _envy._

She was still marvelling over this realisation when Aunt spoke again.

"It would be prudent of you to stay away from this lady, no matter how deserving of her fame she is", said Ivriniel as he began to weave again, her hand moving swiftly as she threaded the shuttle.

Lothíriel waved her hand in a weary, dismissive gesture.

"You don't have to worry about her, Aunt. She may be his sister but that won't change a thing. The ship has already sailed. I betrayed him and he won't forgive it, not even if she tried to make him. Though I can't imagine why would she even try", she said and idly noted how dejected her voice sounded. Was it even correct to say the ship had sailed? A more correct description was, the ship had sailed, set on fire, burned to ash and vanished from the world. Coming up with pathetic metaphors like that was surprisingly entertaining.

"Her brother is king. She may be of Gondor now, but she will have Rohan's interests close to her thoughts, still. And you know the side of you that the world sees. To them, you are a very eligible bride, especially for a foreign sovereign who is held in high esteem", Aunt said and made it sound like all this was very distasteful to her. She added in a lower voice, "I am sure the idea has occurred in the Citadel of Minas Tirith. That Elessar is craftier than he lets on."

"I thought you didn't care about politics", Lothíriel noted, leaning her head back against the chair.

Aunt gave her another of those sharp looks from under her brows.

"I care about it where it concerns us, child. Don't be so foolish as to think it doesn't matter what goes on in the capital. The King has come to his own and things will change", she said sternly.

The younger woman frowned. It sounded a lot like something she had said to Aunt back before the recent madness... she recalled she had tried to point out how the world was changing and the two of them would have to pay more attention to politics. She had wanted to introduce herself to _him..._

She shook herself. Aunt had her own reasons and rationalisations, and she was sure they did not spring from same concerns as hers. In Ivriniel's mind, they were probably talking about two entirely different things.

Lothíriel looked at the old woman once more.

"Well, even if the idea had occurred to Lady Éowyn and King Elessar himself approved, they will find themselves gravely disappointed. I broke Éomer's trust, just like you told me to. He won't want to have anything to do with me ever again", she said and was not able to keep the sadness from her voice. Many things she could lose and feel only minor loss.

But to lose a man like him... she had had _him_ for such a little while, and yet she already knew that what had passed through her fingers was singular and irreplaceable. It had faded away as a child's laughter in the wind. A chance like that did not come twice in one person's lifetime. This knowledge brought her a fresh wave of sadness and she lowered her eyes. For a moment, the crackling in fireplace was the only sound in the room.

"Poor child", said Aunt softly. "Dry your tears and lift up your chin. When will you see it is a good thing? You are free now. You will forget him in time, and then you will emerge stronger than you ever were before."

 _No, Aunt,_ Lothíriel thought and stared into the fire. _I'm not sure I will._

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** This is another of those chapters that just write themselves. It almost came out fully formed as fast as I could type it! And I enjoyed writing it very much, because to examine their thoughts, especially the conflict Lothíriel feels here, was truly fascinating.

Several of my readers wanted to see Éomer fighting his way to Lothíriel, and I admit it was an attractive idea to me as well. But when I thought about the scenario and what was most likely outcome, I chose the road you see here. I know it's frustrating, and we all want to see Lothíriel freed from her aunt, but let's be honest: it's not going to be easy. Neither of them have a handbook for how to act in this sort of situation. For one, Éomer, doesn't have the full picture. Sure, he has some suspicions about what kind of relationship Lothíriel really has with Ivriniel, but he doesn't realise the full extent of it. How could he, when not even her own family have yet noticed it? He hasn't seen them together or understand how manipulative Ivriniel is - or how very much Lothíriel in fact is under her control and needed his help to break free. So, not having all the facts, Éomer lets his temper get better of him. Feeling hurt and betrayed, he thinks she was just playing another role with him and decided to leave him the moment it became possible for her. His anger prevents him from connecting the dots.

But Éowyn wonders. She has Faramir's view at her disposal, but also something else that you may have guessed already, and will become apparent in the next chapter.

I'd also like to note that Lothíriel's poor mental state in this chapter is not simply angst over losing Éomer. She certainly is grieving it bitterly, but there's also deep shock over seeing just how fake everything she does is and not really knowing who she is anymore. The time she spent with him had already started to change her and given her a glimpse of a life that could be hers, and losing all those possibilities causes her intense pain. She can't go easily back to all that pretending when being with Éomer and finding peace in honesty and truth had started to "heal" her in a way, if that is the right word to be used here. Part of it is guilt of having betrayed him, which only grows stronger when she learns that he is feeling hurt and in pain. All in all, the conflict between her old life and her present causes a crisis in her that she doesn't know how to reconcile, and Ivriniel's continuing influence surely does not help with her deteriorating mental welfare.

I admit I did not expect that she would be so distraught, but on the other hand, it now seems like the most realistic reaction. Her whole world has taken a very serious blow and this crisis is not something Ivriniel has equipped her to deal with.

Thank you for reading and reviewing!

* * *

 **heckofabecka -** Indeed! But poor thing didn't (and maybe still doesn't) understand what kind of a hold Ivriniel has over her, and so she didn't understand she needed back up before it was too late.

And this all has indeed been very stressful for her, which surely impacts her mood in this chapter! I know it's probably a hard thing to read, but things must get worse before they can get better!

 **Wtiger5 -** I am loving this reaction to Ivriniel, because it seems to imply I have written her antagonism well enough! :D Anyway, I'm glad you liked it!

 **MissCallaLilly -** I'm afraid she did! ;)

 **notyetanotheralias -** I am sad to hear that you think so. But I also think you profoundly misunderstand both what is going and who and what Lothíriel is. Yes, she is written as strong and brave in many ways. But she is also a young woman who has been groomed and manipulated by a very crafty woman since she was a child. Lothíriel in this story is a victim of deliberate conditioning and abuse by someone she trusted and loved. This duality is the very thing I am trying to explore here.

And this is one thing she doesn't know how to fight: that's how strong Ivriniel's hold of her is. If there's something her aunt never taught her, it's defiance against her mentor. Ivriniel, far more skilled in the art of deception, has tools over her she doesn't even understand. I had hoped to make this clear at least in the latest chapter: Lothíriel has hard time arguing herself because she has been conditioned to obey her aunt, and the way Ivriniel uses her feelings and fears against her, essentially making her think that no one else loves her. These are basic abusive patterns used to control the victim.

Which brings me to how grievous it is that you think Lothíriel is a weakling. I am not an abuse survivor myself, but I have known people who have gone through that and to call them weak would be the furthest thing from the truth, I had hoped to show that you can still be _great_ even if you are abused and traumatised, and it's truly heartbreaking to hear that all that you went through, that you may still be subject to, makes you simply weak in the end.

 **EStrunk -** She really is pushing people's buttons, isn't she? :D Anyway, I'm glad to hear the set up for her nature was indeed apparent! I always worry how well things like that come across in my story.

Also it seems things are not working out for them very smoothly. Éomer at least is too angry at the moment to realise what really happened.

 **Doranwen -** Yes, that was one shitty situation for her! But we'll see how they work through this. :)

 **Wondereye -** It may be some ways yet before we can get there!

 **Jo -** Yes, Ivriniel wasn't just going to let her go like that! Éomer may now have hard time getting through, especially when he hasn't even got through to himself yet!

 **Catspector -** It had so many things going on, it really was delightful to write. As was this one. It's always great to explore characters' psyche when they are in conflict with themselves and the world. It is a tangle for them, and it seems now that they have reached an impasse. And the only person who takes any joy in this is Ivriniel herself.

 **Anon -** Yes, there is still plenty of hardships ahead! Unfortunately, at the moment Éomer is too angry to try and get to her. It seemed to me that his temper would get in way, especially since he doesn't know the full tale and wasn't there to see how Ivriniel manipulated Lothíriel. He hasn't interacted with Ivriniel long enough or seen her with Lothíriel, and so this aspect is still shrouded in some confusion for him.

You are also quite right about it being improbable that Lothíriel could break free by herself, especially when her own mental state is what it is in this chapter.

 **Merakia -** I'm afraid Ivriniel is too set in her own ways that she could let Lothíriel go. Her own life experiences have made her so that she can't interact normally with people, and in her eyes, no one but her niece an even understand her. In fact, deep down Ivriniel is quite afraid of being alone.

Éomer isn't doing any freeing any time soon, as it looks like. But we'll see how this works out!

 **malfoy lea -** Glad to hear that! Also it's good to know that her abusive side comes across that clearly. Like I said earlier, it's not always obvious to me how well I have been able to convey things like that - especially when Ivriniel has not been physically present for many chapters. Anyway, I'm actually happy that she has made such a strong impression!

 **Nerdanel -** She's not healthy company, indeed. I think deep down Lothíriel knows how bad and unhealthy this all is for her, but she doesn't know how to get away from it. I hope this chapter doesn't cause you to cry yourself to sleep again, though the mood remains less than glad!

 **RubberKidney -** You are quite correct - this is the only way she can deal with her own trauma. It's really a circle that feeds itself and she doesn't know how to break it. I don't know if that's even possible for her at this point. But I'm glad to hear she has caused such a complex reaction in you! For however horrible her treatment of Lothíriel is, it can't be denied that she is complicated person!

I'm afraid Éomer has let his anger and temper cloud his sight, but we'll see how that will turn out!


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

After a restless night Lothíriel was the first one in the family's dining hall. She had stayed with Aunt Ivriniel until it was late and the old woman had graced her with one of her stories from when she had been active as the Hidden Blade. She recalled many adventures indeed, but rarely spoke of them even to her pupil, unless it was to instruct her. That she would share one of those tales without any particular purpose was, Lothíriel supposed, her way of doing something nice for her niece.

But eventually Aunt had grown weary and bid her good night. So Lothíriel had wandered the moonlit halls and felt restless, like a ghost unable to abandon paths it has treaded in life. She had only retired to her own chamber when she had come across a servant on some late night errand and he had looked at her funnily, like he was wondering if she was right in the head.

Even so, if she was the last to go to bed, she was also the first to leave it.

Family members began to arrive. She greeted them, summoning smiles and injecting her voice with life and enthusiasm. It sounded fake to her own ears, but at least no one appeared to see through the façade. Grimly she thought Aunt had taught her so well, she could die and still be able to pass as one of the living.

Faramir and Éowyn arrived last, hand in hand and looking so bright and happy it made Lothíriel's heart ache. The White Lady was arrayed in pale yellow today and looked like a ray of sun, which impression was only enhanced by her smile. It was distressing to notice this thing about her, because it reminded Lothíriel so much of _him._

But Éowyn was smiling, unsuspecting of her mood. She came to take the seat next to Lothíriel's and greeted her warmly, as though they were old friends. It made the princess feel a little bewildered. Such friendly conduct outside her family was not a common experience for her.

"I hope you and Faramir rested well? Our guests from inland sometimes say the sea keeps them awake", Lothíriel said when the White Lady was settled next to her and was adding some honey to her porridge.

"We slept very well, thank you. Our voyage here gave us some time to adjust, and there are not many things these days that can disturb me at night. It is easy to rest peacefully when one is among friends", Éowyn said lightly. The way she spoke Westron was yet another reminder of _him._ She did not have an accent per say, but there was a lilting in her voice, almost song-like at times.

Lothíriel hemmed in agreement and was thinking of something to say when the woman next to her looked at her. The princess was not so deep in thought that she didn't notice the keen, searching expression in those grey eyes. But Éowyn spoke again before she could examine this observation further.

"May I ask you for a walk this morning? Faramir has been telling me how lovely it is down the beach, and I would dearly like to go there. We often take walks by the Anduin, but that is hardly the same as the Great Sea", Éowyn chatted away. Her manner was so warm and pleasant, Lothíriel knew it would be hard to refuse her friendship. And she surely could not avoid the White Lady's company while she and Faramir were here. Whatever Aunt said, she had other duties too, and those were of a cousin and a kinswoman and a hostess.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, after all. And like she had told her aunt, it was not like Éowyn could mend the damage she had done.

"Of course. I would be pleased to take you there", Lothíriel said in her best accommodating voice. Though it was clear where the main focus of her training had been, she could appear like a proper lady when needed, too.

Éowyn seemed delighted, but if she was planning some sort of an interrogation, she was sparing it for another time.

Lively conversations rose in the table that morning, accompanied by many laughs. Lothíriel too made a few quips here and there, and was almost certain today no one worried about her. But towards the end of the meal, her eyes fell on Father and she saw he had been watching her. His expression was one she did not understand, but when her gaze met his, he smiled at her and looked away once more.

After breakfast, she and Éowyn fetched their walking shoes. The day was rather warm and there was little wind, so neither took their cloaks. A couple of guards came along, although Lothíriel mused wryly that nowhere in the western realms could one find at this time another pair of women who were less in need of guarding. However, appearances were appearances, and that was something she understood well.

They took a steep, narrow path down to the Prince's private beach. She knew Father went there sometimes to think and mull over his concerns. In happier days, it had been the scene to picnics with her family, walks with Mother, and games with her brothers.

Éowyn walked by her side, linking her arm with Lothíriel. She had a way of making it feel perfectly comfortable and natural. But the younger woman thought of how strange it was, the mere idea of having someone who would go with her for walks on the beach and share her secrets. Not that she never confided in Aredhel, or even her father on an occasion, but Aunt was always telling her the only one she could truly trust was herself. And in the end, some of her secrets were the kind she just could not tell anyone else.

"It is so beautiful here. Faramir has praised Dol Amroth from earth to the skies, and I thought he must be exaggerating. But I see now that he embellished his stories very little", Éowyn said when they were down at the beach.

"Yes, it is a fair land. We have been blessed in many ways", Lothíriel said and looked ahead, though her mind scarcely made notice of anything that she saw.

The blonde woman smiled.

"Indeed. You must show me around here, Lothíriel. Perhaps you might have time to give me a tour of the castle? I absolutely need to see the gardens – you see, I am trying to take up gardening myself, but there's still so much to learn. And I would love to see the city as well. I know a few ladies back north who would be overjoyed to receive some of your Amrothian pearls for their necklaces and earrings", she went on lightly. It was not so much her words, but her tone that helped Lothíriel to relax a bit.

So they talked about the city for a while, until Éowyn let out a sigh and lifted her eyes upwards.

"Faramir has promised to take me on a proper tour of Gondor some time. I really want to see my new homeland, but of course it has to wait for a few years at least. There is so much to do and to mend in Ithilien, and Aragorn often has need of us. And I can't go romping the countryside while rebuilding still continues in Rohan. Not that Éomer expects it of me, but I try to be always ready, in case he needs my help", she said in soft, solemn tones. Warmth appeared in her voice when she mentioned her brother. Lothíriel lowered her eyes.

"He is a good king. And a good brother", she muttered in a faint voice.

"Indeed he is. Always putting me and others before himself... " Éowyn said and sighed again, though it was more heavily now. "I worry about him sometimes, you know. He thinks people always leave him. Our parents, Théodred, Théoden our uncle, and even I… he's all alone there, trying to wear the mantle that was not supposed to come to him. And he's better at it than he admits. He's so determined to make it work. But I can see how hard it is, especially now that I'm gone. I wish… even if it's hypocritical of me after I left to live in Gondor, I wish that for once, someone chose _him."_

The princess swallowed hard. If she was not careful now, she might start to cry.

"I wish him all the happiness in the world. And that someone who is deserving does choose him", she muttered half-audibly. The idea felt like there was a blade twisting in her chest, but on the other hand, she would gladly take mortal pain if it meant _he_ would be happy.

Éowyn halted for the first time. As her arm was still around Lothíriel's, she had to stop too. Daring to steal a glance of her new kinswoman's eyes, she saw the sharp, alert glint in them. Lothíriel shivered, knowing that the moment of truth had arrived. She would have been fool to think Éowyn had wanted to come here just to admire the sea.

"Lothíriel, I will speak plainly now. He told me what happened between you. He was convinced that you had deceived him. Yet even then, I wondered. You see, I know my brother better than he realises. And I asked myself, _would_ he really fall in love with someone so deceitful? He usually sees so keenly who people truly are; he knew from the start that Gríma Wormtongue could not be trusted, and saw at once the worth and valour of Aragorn when he was still a weather-beaten Ranger fresh from the wild… why wouldn't he see _you_ for your true self? And Faramir spoke well of you, said that you're not like your aunt… so I had to see you, Lothíriel. Though it was not only for this reason. I also wanted to meet the person who saved my only brother's life", she spoke slowly and gravely.

She then re-adjusted her hand on Lothíriel's arm, and pulled her gently after herself. They began to walk again and Éowyn continued to talk.

"I had my doubts until the last moment. But when I saw you waiting of us on that pier, and your eyes met mine… I knew at once that my brother doesn't have the whole picture. Even with his keen perception, he had missed one vital piece", she said and gazed ahead.

"How did you know?" Lothíriel asked, frowning to herself.

Éowyn glanced at her and there was a strange humourless smile on her fair features.

"Because I saw the look in your eyes. It was the same I had seen so many times in my own mirror", she answered, a peculiar grim tone in her voice.

This only confused the younger woman deeper. She would have asked for clarification, but Éowyn already continued.

"Why did you leave him without an explanation?" she wanted to know. By now, Lothíriel knew she could not lie. All the things Éowyn had already said had disarmed her. She was so tired of lying and pretending. And she was so truly miserable, thinking of how Éowyn was now certain to laugh at her and scorn her. Surely to get to the bottom of this thing and finding out Lothíriel's reasons had been her sole motive to be so nice, because Aunt said no one ever bothered to be kind to others unless they wanted something... but it was so _exhausting,_ always analysing others' actions and trying to figure out what their hidden agendas could be and how she should respond... with Éomer she hadn't needed to analyse anything, unless it be her own weakness for him... her shoulders were shaking and she felt like screaming.

"I… I thought it was the only way", she answered quietly, eyes fixed on the soft white sand of the beach. "We were together for such a little while, and I… I couldn't believe he was…"

Her voice broke, but Éowyn was not going to let her stop.

"What couldn't you believe?" she asked, but her voice was gentle and careful.

Lothíriel breathed deeply in and out before answering.

"It has to be just infatuation. He thought I was something strange, some mystery for him to solve. But he would grow weary of me… he would find me lacking after the first wonder wore off. And he would begin to resent me", she answered slowly. How did those horrible words come out so easily, without tears?

She could feel Éowyn's eyes on herself again. Glancing from the corner of her eye, she saw the White Lady's wondering expression.

"Do you truly think so little of him? It is true my brother's emotions can be quick, but they are not so in love. In that, he is the most steadfast of men and its spark is slow to die in him. If his heart was turned to you, then it was truly felt by him. And there is no power in this world that could change it, unless you yourself were to try and push him away", Éowyn said firmly. She did not seem to realise the sheer agony that her words caused to the princess, who was pressing her free hand into a fist so tight that her nails were now drawing blood.

"Well, I think I did just that", she uttered in a strangled voice.

"But why did you? I see it causes you pain", Éowyn wondered out loud.

Lothíriel did not answer right away. The answer was so simple, and yet it made her feel such shame. This bright, strong woman who took no orders from anyone would think her weak, think her foolish... she wanted to turn and run, but her body would not obey. She felt like she might collapse.

"Because... my aunt told me to", Lothíriel whispered at last and bowed her head. It throbbed inside her skull, the agony of her shame and weakness.

Éowyn said nothing at first. She was silent, but Lothíriel felt her eyes on herself, though she couldn't meet them. In silence she stared at the ground and waited for scornful words that were sure to come.

But none _did_ come.

"I see", Éowyn said at last, soft and thoughtful. "I understand now. Thank you for telling me this, Lothíriel… I know it was hard for you. Please don't think I pushed you to talk because I wished to cause you pain."

The princess made a low sound in her throat and turned her eyes to the sea. She felt numb, as though all the misery and failure and yearning had just… like it was simply too much for one person to bear.

A comforting hand touched her shoulder, but she did not turn to face her cousin's wife.

"Lothíriel, I'd like to ask you something. Do you want to leave this place? You could come with me and Faramir and stay with us in Emyn Arnen for a while. You don't even need to say anything. Just nod, and we will take care of rest", Éowyn said now and in her voice, there was a strange, vehement tone. It stirred something odd in Lothíriel's chest, but she knew not what it meant. She met the woman's eyes and saw they were bright and eager.

"Thank you for your offer, but my place is here in Dol Amroth. One never knows when my services are needed", she announced, prim and proper.

Éowyn's face twitched and she opened her mouth to say something, but she closed it again before a single word came out. She smiled once more, though this time, it was not quite so bright.

"Very well. But it's an open invitation, Lothíriel, and you may claim it any time you feel like it", she said nevertheless. The princess felt a bit better and she relaxed somewhat. Not everyone was double-faced and trying to manipulate others. Least of all _his_ sister.

They turned back soon enough and spoke little on their way back. What thoughts passed through Éowyn's mind, Lothíriel did not know. But her own musings were far away, and with growing dread in her heart she wondered if she had ruined her chances of freedom, of light, of _him,_ for nothing.

* * *

Over the course of the next week, Éowyn and Faramir rarely left her alone. The pair of them had apparently become overnight single most adventurous couple in all of Gondor, and every day they required Lothíriel to join them for excursions in and out the palace. There were walks in the castle grounds and the beach, shopping and sightseeing in the city, rides in the woods and the countryside, and even a sailing trip to the coast. Éowyn assumed a green shade on her face as soon as she stepped in their boat, but never complained.

Their amusements were extensive to the point where it was already evening they returned to castle. Lothíriel was quite exhausted when night came, both because of long days of accompanying her energetic cousin and his wife and her sleeping troubles.

She did not mind all the activities, though. It seemed that her initial concerns had been wrong, and it was unnecessary to try and avoid the White Lady. _His_ name never came up again after that one conversation. Éowyn and Faramir were invariably delightful company and with them it wasn't so hard to keep her mind from _him._ In fact, she even had moments when she enjoyed herself and felt the burden on her shoulders lightening a bit. And though Éowyn often reminded her of _him,_ this sweet, loving woman's friendship was not the kind you could reject for long. Lothíriel knew she would miss them both when they returned to their own home and at times, she regretted refusing Éowyn's invitation. However, she knew Aunt would never approve of her going.

So another night came after their sailing trip, which had continued all the way to sunset, and Lothíriel was really very tired when she got in her own chamber and took a quick bath. She felt stiff and weary from managing the sails and the ropes, even though she had just been helping Erchirion. But it had been nice: they had spent the afternoon exploring one of the small islands off the coast, eaten so much fish and other sea creatures that dinner was an impossibility by the time they got back, and watched Erchirion chase Amrothos across the beach because the latter had splashed the former's face with ink from an octopus carcass. Éowyn had laughed so hard she had nearly fallen in a tide pool.

Lothíriel smiled at these memories as she pulled a brush through her hair. But the smile died when she thought of _him_ and what he would have said, had he been with them today. She bit her lip and laid the brush down. This would be so much easier if he did not pop into her mind when she least expected it.

A soft knock at the door interrupted her melancholy thoughts. Wrapping her robe around herself, she went to answer the door, thinking it was perhaps a servant. She was quite mistaken.

Aunt Ivriniel stood there and almost as soon as the door was open, she slid inside – if an old woman with a limp _could_ slide. Lothíriel did not try to stop her.

"What is it, Aunt?" she asked instead and returned to the task of brushing her hair.

"It has been three nights since you last came to see me, child", Aunt stated. As ever, she was swift to get to the point.

"I've been spending time with Faramir and Éowyn. And afterwards I've been so tired, I simply want to go to bed", said Lothíriel and looked down. These days, it felt like everything she did was somehow wrong.

"And forget your old aunt entirely?" Ivriniel asked, just with the faintest accusation in her tone. But it was more than enough.

"I'm sorry. It's just… when I'm with them, it's easier not to think of _him",_ Lothíriel admitted.

"Hmm. Perhaps there is some virtue in their friendship, then. But do not grow over attached to the company of your cousin and his wife. One never knows when Dol Amroth has need of you", Aunt said, serious but not entirely without gentleness.

"Yes, Aunt", Lothíriel said and folded her hands in her lap.

"Go to sleep, child. You do seem tired", her mentor commanded and bid her good night. Then the old woman swept away once more. Lothíriel was too weary to try and make anything of this late evening's visit.

When she had blown out candles and put out the lamps, she crawled under the sheets and curled up on her side. She pulled her knees close to her chest, as though that could make her feel a little less hollow, and sighed long and heavy into the darkness.

* * *

It was late and Faroth's duty was almost over.

His guard shift had been longer than usual: he had been covering for a friend who had got ill earlier today, and as he owed the poor bugger a favour, Faroth had grudgingly agreed to take over his duty as well. He knew his wife would not be happy, because she thought he was too much out of their little home anyway, but he told her it wouldn't be wise to make his commanding officer doubt his dedication to the House of Dol Amroth. Soldiers serving in Prince Imrahil's guard earned much better than mere city watchmen did.

He was itchy in his uniform and his feet ached. Such a long, unpleasant day! There was more hassle in the castle than usual, for Prince Faramir and his wife the famous Lady of the Shield-arm were visiting. He had managed to catch a few glimpses of them and couldn't wait to get to boast about it to his circle of friends. When one looked at the tall Rohirric woman, one could easily picture her taking down the feared Witch-king on the fields of Pelennor.

Such tales were not entertaining him much now, though. Minutes passed by so slowly that he even wondered if the very passage of time had been altered somehow.

Faroth was waiting for the bell's toll to announce the end of his shift, and was sure it would be sounding any minute now. But it was then that one door down the hallway opened, and there bearing a lamp and something white in her hand appeared Princess Éowyn. She was quite the vision with her hair open and dressed in a robe, but her proud manner and brightness of her eyes would discourage a man from improper thoughts very quickly.

"You there", she spoke to Faroth, who was quite astonished to be so spoken to by a living legend. "May I ask you to send a letter for me? I would take it myself but I am told it would cause quite the scandal if I were to wander the castle like this."

Her eyes glinted in a way that suggested she was amused by this idea, but Faroth did not dare to feel much anything about it. Prince Faramir could very well be listening to this conversation, and _there_ was one man whose challenge in battle he did not need!

"Of course, my lady. Who is it for?" he asked, extending his hand to receive the letter. He hid his vexation. Having to deal with letters at this hour! It was sure to make him even more late. However, Princess Éowyn, the Slayer of the Witch-king, was not someone you just told _no._

"My brother the King of Rohan. It is important this leaves this very night, for I have some urgent news for him. Please, make haste with it. My heart is anxious", she said and indeed, some shadow passed across her eyes. Faroth shuddered. Whatever could make _this_ lady anxious simply terrified him.

"Yes, my lady", he answered and to his pleasure, felt a coin pressed in his hand along with the letter. In dim light, he saw the flash of silver.

"Thank you, good master", she said and offered him such a smile as no woman had ever given him. He held back a groan. What a lucky man that Prince Faramir was!

His dazed observation faded soon enough when he had turned and the bell tolled. Damn it! He really was going to be late because of a foreign lady who could not send her letters at a more reasonable hour!

Faroth was muttering oaths under his breath when a shadow materialised from darkness. He nearly jumped before he saw it was just the Lady Ivriniel. Now _there_ was another sort of woman entirely. Sometimes he could swear the Prince's unmarried sister was some kind of an unnatural thing of song and myth. Maybe she was some kind of a changeling? He had heard about creatures switched at birth and raised among Men. At least the way she moved in the shadows even with her limp was positively occult.

"It is late, soldier", she spoke very softly. "Wouldn't you like to be on your way home already?"

"Well, yes, my lady, but I need to deliver this letter first", he said warily.

Lady Ivriniel smiled slightly in the light of a lamp. It occurred to him that as a younger woman, she must have been quite a beauty.

"Why don't you let me do that? I prefer night-time anyway, and no one is waiting for me. I'll make sure the letter leaves Dol Amroth this very night", she offered gently.

It did not take Faroth long to make up his mind. Princess Ivriniel was Imrahil's own sister and it was true what she said about not having to be anywhere. If she was willing to do this favour for him, who was he to deny her? His wife was waiting.

"Very well, my lady", he said at last and handed over the letter. "It is for the King of Rohan from his sister."

The old woman's fingers closed around the letter in a way that, for a split second, almost looked _greedy._ Faroth wanted to shake himself, but did not. He really was tired and starting to imagine things.

"Of course. It is right and proper for a sister to look out for her brother, don't you think…" said the Lady Ivriniel and she let out a low, hollow laugh as she slowly made her way down the hall.

He shuddered. Something told him whatever had amused the strange old lady, he did not want to know anything about it.

* * *

Éomer was relieved by how quickly things got back to normal in Edoras. Of course, there was an uproar initially upon his return. First they had received the highly distressing news of his disappearing, and the capital had been a veritable bedlam for a couple of days, until Gamling and Elfhelm were able to calm everybody down. Gossiping had raged on, though, and there had been talk he was already dead, some spoke of Éowyn's coronation day as though it was already set, and others were preparing for war although orders to muster the Rohirrim had not yet been given.

But then a Rider had sped like a tempest from the east, bringing joyful tidings: the errant King had been found and he was safe once more. Reportedly, this caused yet another outbreak, but at least things had cooled down a little by the time Éomer himself got back.

It went much in the way that he had expected. Questions from many sides, varying from what had happened to whether Rohan would retaliate, had to be answered. There were long conversations with his council. Not only did they want to hear everything, they were also demanding for some guarantee or safeguard that nothing like this could ever happen again. Like Éomer had expected, he would be having a much heavier guard with him from now on whenever he left the Mark. But he swallowed his complaints and dealt with it. At least, all the politics kept him too busy to be thinking about some dangerous subjects.

Life went on. But Éomer did not feel the same as before his visit to Dol Amroth. He felt restless for something he couldn't name, and there were moments his mind wandered far away, so that voices around him were but meaningless noise. Often he thought of those events, the days on the run, nights spent in the safe house, and especially his young, unusual, deceitful companion. At times, a thought pierced his mind suddenly: where was she now? What was she doing at this moment? No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't forget her. She clung to him like his own shadow.

Éomer wondered why it was so hard to forget somebody who, in the end, had proved false and untrustworthy. Only answer he could come up with was that even if she was not honest, whatever he had felt for her had been _real._

And maybe because a part of him still felt it.

So he buried himself in work, of which there was plenty. He took this task so keenly that it was in no time at all he was up to date with everything that had piled up during his absence. Then he was planning extensive trips to the different parts of his realm, to meet with local chiefs and see how the rebuilding was going on. The West-mark in particular weighed on his mind, for that part of the kingdom had suffered greatly from Saruman's attacks.

But there were some hopeful news in the land, as he learned in a council meeting with his advisers: there had been no orc sightings since spring and if good weathers would continue, harvest could be expected to be better than in years. Afterwards, he lingered in the now quiet chamber, seated by the table and staring in the distance as thoughts flitted across his mind. Like the King's study, Éomer had not changed these rooms much after Théoden, except for throwing out such small garbage as would gather dust in the corners: empty inkwells, a few broken quills, pieces of drafted answers to letters Théoden had sent years ago… Éomer was more of an outdoor person himself, so he had not made great effort either here or the royal apartment to mark them as his own. This was one of the things he most disliked about being a king. He didn't get to be out as much as he wanted or do what he was best at: protecting the Mark from the back of his horse.

Not that a king was not required to protect his people. But it was so different when one was sitting on the throne: it was more about ideas and politics and diplomacy. It was finding that struggle did not end where battles did. Where marshals used their shields and swords and commanded their men, king had to wield his wits, trying to see into future and calculating possible outcomes even when you didn't have all facts at your use. And it was having to learn to put your words fairly and wisely, even when your heart was boiling in anger. Of course politics had been a thing he had needed to learn about as the Third Marshal, but his understanding had hardly been so intricate at the time.

Éomer sighed and leaned back in his chair. He raked a hand through his hair and thought about reports he had waiting for him in the study. He had no hope of getting it all done until after supper, when most sensible folks would go to their friends and families already. But he was not sensible and had no family, whereas most of his friends _did._ He knew none of them would hesitate to keep him company if he just asked, but he may as well tackle some work tonight instead of going to bother some poor soul. After his misadventure in south, he felt like he somehow owed it to people to work harder than ever.

But he was not allowed to entertain this line of thought further. For the door to the council room was opened and inside stepped his secretary, a noble lord or the Mark. Tall he was, but leaner than most Rohirrim, and with shoulder-length hair of dark gold. His eyes were blue and sharp, seeing deeper into things than people would normally care to look. He was named Leofstan and was only a few years younger than Uncle had been. He had served the court back in Théoden's day and been a confidant of the old king before Wormtongue's influence began to grow. Éomer had appointed him as his secretary almost as soon as he had returned from the Ring War, for he liked the man well enough and was very much aware there was probably no one else in the Mark who knew as much about ruling the land. Not to mention, Leofstan was in good terms with Éomer's own trusted men.

"Sire", the man greeted him, "You wished to speak to me alone?"

"Aye", Éomer said and straightened on his seat. "I am riding to Gondor again in a few weeks. I imagine the council will not like it after what happened the last time, and I hoped you would aid me in consoling them."

Leofstan did not seem like he liked either the idea of Éomer travelling again so soon, or helping him to make his case with the royal council. Of course, the young king could just have said he was going and hear no objections, but he preferred to stay in speaking terms with his council.

"Is it necessary, Sire? You must see how your people will be uneasy", Leofstan pointed out warily.

"Don't understand me wrong, Leofstan. I'm not indifferent to your concern. But I will not be going further than Mundburg – I need to speak with Aragorn, you see. At that time, his officers will have interrogated the corsair crew that took me prisoner, and he will know more about what is going on in Umbar and whether it means they are planning war. It is a matter much too important to be discussed in letters. Moreover, both of us agree I should be there when the pirates are brought before justice. To refuse participating would mean I hold a grudge, and most of all we need to make sure things get back to normal", Éomer explained his reasoning to his secretary. Leofstan listened in silence, and his reluctant expression mellowed at length.

"Well, I suppose you are correct, Sire. Someone must go and observe that justice is properly executed, and who is better for the task than yourself? And it would be unseemly to turn our backs after all the aid Gondor gave us after the war", he agreed, as Éomer had expected he would. Leofstan had a mind for diplomacy unlike most people – and most Rohirrim, who were so fond of their blunt and straightforward attitudes.

"Aye. That is very true", Éomer said and grimly remembered the hardships of last winter. There was hope that this year would not be so difficult, but he knew as a king he would always have to be prepared for the worst.

"If you promise not to be away for too long, I believe it won't be too hard to reassure your council", Leofstan remarked. He frowned a little, "Say, are you planning other trips beyond our borders?"

Éomer met the eyes of his secretary with a wry smile.

"Not at the moment, Leofstan. But you were not born yesterday. You know that it doesn't take something as unexpected as a crew of pirates to end a man's life. I could very well die in my own Hall", he pointed out darkly. Not that he often contemplated his own demise, but it seemed like his advisers constantly did.

"I do know that. We all do, Sire. Which is why it would make us feel easier if there was some safeguard against the grievous event of your death", Leofstan said carefully. His meaning was not lost to the young king.

"In that case, the second thing I wanted to talk to you about should make you glad", Éomer said. The words that he spoke next came out with more difficulty than he had expected, "I'd like you to consult with the royal council and compile a list of those unmarried ladies of the Mark you feel would be qualified for the position of the Queen."

Leofstan looked surprised, which was quite an accomplishment; Éomer did not believe the man had ever been astonished by anything in his life. It would have amused him had the topic been different.

"Of course, Sire. How soon do you expect me to deliver the list to you?" the secretary asked as soon as he had mastered his reaction.

"There's no haste, yet. I want you to consider it well and thoroughly. The choice can't be made irresponsibly. I need a companion and a partner, not a pretty ornament who can't stomach duty", Éomer said, perhaps a little harder than was necessary. He sighed and softened his tone, "I was thinking of announcing it at the Harvest Feast, if all goes well."

"That should indeed please everyone, Sire", Leofstan said and made a small but respectful bow. He even smiled as he said, "I am glad you are considering this, my lord. It has been a weight on us all, especially when you went missing."

"I can imagine", Éomer said and refrained from grimacing. "Maybe I should have thought about this before… it might have shielded me from some very stupid actions." _And some very unwarranted feelings._

"Hesitating is understandable, Sire. It is one of the most important decisions a man will make during his life. In your case, it is even more so: you are not only choosing that voice which will speak in your absence, but also setting the course of the future. Your son by her will be our king one day", said Leofstan, still with that same smile. No doubt he couldn't wait to get to talk with the council about this matter.

"Yes. It is a staggering thought", he agreed and tried not to sound resigned. Not all could expect to live such happiness as Éowyn and Faramir… or his own parents.

But then, maybe his heart would change in time. Maybe eventually he wouldn't be dreaming of black hair and grey eyes anymore. There was no reason he couldn't grow to be content, at least. There was still friendship and working together and accomplishing great tasks that would be insurmountable alone. And children… well, in children of his own he might find the happiness that had so long eluded him.

It was not the worst idea. But even so, he knew it would be long, maybe forever, before the little voice at the back of his mind would cease with the question: _what if._

* * *

The week spent in Dol Amroth was eventful and it passed quickly. Too soon, it seemed to Éowyn, came the day that she and Faramir were set to leave.

It was indeed too soon. She knew she was needed here – needed by one who did not seem to understand the magnitude of her own plight. And because she was still so deep in the shadow, she did not know how to ask for help.

Éowyn worried. What would become of Lothíriel when she was under her aunt's mercy again, without any outside interference? For there she had been able to locate the true reason of the young woman's distress: in so many ways, Lady Ivriniel kept her niece as a prisoner. And no one seemed to be aware of this, not even her family.

But then, she reminded herself that she had keener perception in these matters than most people.

She had sent a letter for Éomer, explaining him all that she had seen here and what she thought had happened – what was the truth about his fallout with the princess. However, the letter would be on road for some weeks, and still more time would pass before Éomer could do anything about it. And that was only _if_ he chose to act.

Yet maybe there was something Éowyn could still do for the young lady she had met and befriended in Dol Amroth. Faramir had suggested it all along, and she deemed he had been right from the start. For it seemed to them both that whatever her aunt had taught Lothíriel to be, she was not limited by it. Why else would she react like this when her mentor tried to contain her once more and cut out what growth there had been during the time she had been away from the old woman? She could be so much more, if she were free. Éowyn guessed _this_ was the very fact that had made Éomer fall in love with the unusual maiden.

On the day of their departure, Imrahil's family came to escort her and Faramir to the harbour and Lothíriel was there as well. Past few days, Éowyn had seen her opening up a little bit and growing more cheerful in their company. However, now that look had returned to her eyes… the one Éowyn had perceived the very day they had met for the first time. Like she had later told Lothíriel, it was until that moment she had not known for sure what was the truth about this young woman. Though Imrahil's daughter was good at pretension, this she could not hide: her eyes looked like those of a prisoner might when staring up from a deep, dark pit.

Éowyn knew about cages and pits where you couldn't escape. She remembered what it was like to feel trapped and desperate and lose hope to the point where only death held promise anymore. Of course, her own situation had been different, and maybe her new friend was not yet that far gone. Memory of that darkness had not bothered her in a while now, but she had not forgotten it. And she could tell Lothíriel was in a cage and her aunt was keeping the door firmly closed. Ivriniel would not let her go, if she could do anything about it. Without help, Lothíriel might not find the strength or the will to break free.

The White Lady hugged her new friend tight and long and felt like the young woman was clinging to her – as though on some level, she knew what was wrong with her, and that it would be better to come along instead of staying.

"You know, if you do want to come visit us, we would be happy to have you", she reassured once more, and Lothíriel managed a tiny smile that did not reach her eyes.

"I will keep it in mind. Have a safe journey home", she said as she pulled back her arms and hands. She looked awkward, like she didn't know what to do with herself now. But Faramir came to speak to her, giving Éowyn a chance to turn to Imrahil. He stood close by and smiled at her warmly. They all had the same eyes as him – even Faramir did. And she still felt gratitude whenever she looked at this man who had rescued her from the fields of Pelennor.

"May I have a word, Imrahil?" she asked in a low voice.

"Of course. What is it?" he inquired and looked at her curiously.

Éowyn looked around and then grasped the man by his forearm, pulling him a little away from the crowd. His wonder only seemed to grow at this action.

"I've tried to think of a right way to do this, Imrahil, but nothing seemed adequate, and now my time runs short. So I suppose there's no better way than to just say it out loud", she started, frowning a little. She hoped Imrahil's pride would not get in way, but that he would listen to her – truly listen and understand how worried she was.

His brow furrowed and he looked at her sharply. Éowyn sighed.

"I do not mean to be disrespectful or criticise you, Imrahil", she said in a low voice, "and I assure it is only out of concern for the new friend I've made while staying here that I speak of this. If you have eyes and you know how to use them, you will have noticed the same as I: your daughter is in distress. For her own sake, you must send her away. Be it in Minas Tirith or Emyn Arnen, it does not matter as long as she leaves this city as soon as possible. For my part, I can promise we would treat her well."

The noble face of the Prince had become very grave as she whispered her concern to him. It seemed to Éowyn that he had noticed his daughter's unhappiness and wondered about it. But it was not her place to speak of these matters without her friend's confidence. Perhaps she was still so hard in Ivriniel's clutches she would consider even this an intrusion of her privacy.

"What do you mean to say, Éowyn?" Imrahil asked, though it did not feel like he inquired this out of ignorance.

She met his eyes, hoping to convey the uneasiness she felt over this situation. So much was at stake: a young life could be lost if something was not done soon. And yet much was to be gained. Not only happiness of two people who had struggled alone for so long, but also forming new ties between two kingdoms.

"Imrahil, if you love her, you must get her away from this place and from her aunt. Save your daughter while you still can."

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** And here's a new chapter! I truly enjoyed writing this one, and it was also effortless in many ways. It was fascinating to explore the conflict inside Lothíriel and her growing distress, but also Éowyn's subtle observations about her new friend.

Previously, I had some difficulty in figuring out what would be the key to this situation. Éomer was out of question for the reasons I listed in the earlier chapter's A/N, but eventually I realised it was really quite obvious. Éowyn was in fact a very canon-compliant answer, because in the _Lord of the Rings,_ she too struggles with despair and feeling like she's trapped in her situation. She has a very unique perspective to demons of the mind, and it allows her to see straight into the core of Lothíriel's troubles. But I had another reason to bring Éowyn to this situation: I wanted Lothíriel to have a positive relationship with another woman. Her aunt has been such a powerful influence in her life, it also takes a powerful character like Éowyn to be able to stand against it.

Although she sees what's wrong, Éowyn doesn't make a direct move, except for inviting Lothíriel to stay with her and Faramir. I don't think she would interfere straightforwardly. She wouldn't feel it's her place, and she thinks it should be a member of family or someone who is already very close to Lothíriel. Like with herself, it was Éomer in _The Return of the King_ that called her back from the shadow where she fell after her battle with the Witch-king. Hence the reason she asks Imrahil to take action. He definitely knows his daughter is not all right. But he doesn't figure out the reason behind it until Éowyn points it out.

Meanwhile, Éomer struggles to move on and Ivriniel is far from being ready to give up the fight...

Thank you for reading and reviewing!

* * *

 **heckofabecka -** You are indeed right! This is not the kind of situation where Éomer would even _know_ that he is needed. Of course everyone hopes for a happy ending, but to be in any way satisfying, it needs to make sense and be true to the characters.

I am glad to hear Lothíriel's situation seems authentic. It's something I worried about, because it's such a complex situation and it was not easy to answer the question of what would a person feel while caught in this? She has indeed been in caught in this abusive relationship for a long time, and so she can't effortlessly break free from it, even when Éowyn is offering her an easy way out.

Also I hope you had a good time in Italy!

 **Tibblets -** She does what she can! :)

 **Anon -** Yes, you are very right. That was a very confusing moment for him and it simply didn't make sense in any other way than she must have lied to him all along.

And you are right to assume Imrahil as not actually realised any of this until now. I think he sees the darkness in his sister, but on the other hand I believe we can be blind to that kind of thing in people we care about, and not see how it can be damaging to ourselves and loved ones. Not to mention, Ivriniel is subtle and manipulative, and he has been manipulated, too. On the other hand, his duties as the Prince of Dol Amroth distract him to a degree. I think of him as a loving father, but he's also simply human in the end, and it's not like Ivriniel's abusive behaviour has been very obvious until now. Meanwhile, Lothíriel thinks very much as you describe: she just assumes her father approves of whatever Ivriniel tells her to do.

Anyway, I hope you liked that last bit between Éowyn and Imrahil!

 **sai19 -** Slow burn is so frustrating and so delicious at the same time! :D But this is a kind of situation that can't be resolved quickly, not at least in a way that makes sense.

I think Éowyn in this matter has a more sensitive approach, due to her own experiences. But I definitely think she has not been ineffective!

 **EStrunk -** Glad to hear it made more sense, in the end! I think he needs a nudge in the right direction, as maybe do some other characters in the story.

Éowyn was great to write, both in last chapter and here. As much as I imagine she would enjoy straightening things out ala slaying of the Witch-king, I think her own experiences have supplied her with sensitivity and understanding that this is a matter that must be dealt with carefully.

 **Jo -** What can I say? I love my plot twists! :D

 **Wtiger5 -** Yes, she is really very reluctant to let Lothíriel go. In the beginning, I didn't realise she bore any resemblance to Denethor, but maybe they are indeed alike in a number of ways!

It's indeed going to take some work for Lothíriel to get through this. But we'll see how that goes for her!

 **Doranwen -** It is great to write, too! It's a kind of situation I haven't explored in writing before, so it's very fascinating. I'm glad to have managed to convey it so well! But it really isn't going so great for Éomer. Poor man is really having hard time picking himself up again!

 **Nerdanel -** I'm glad you liked it! I enjoyed writing it very much, too. :) I think Éowyn would very much have liked to take Lothíriel with her and Faramir, but at the same time, she knows she can't force her to do anything. She knows very well this is a path Lothíriel must walk on herself, and the best chance of doing that is with someone who is already close to her.

 **Catspector -** She knows things are wrong, but she hasn't yet been able - or she hasn't dared - to locate the source of it. And so she still goes to Ivriniel for guidance. You are quite right this can't just go away. And I think Ivriniel sees Lothíriel is in no mental condition to go on a mission. But she probably just sees this as a last step to a situation where Lothíriel's last fighting spirit dies and she becomes like her aunt.

I hope you liked the bits with Éowyn! :)

 **Merakia -** I'm not sure she sees Imrahil that way. Ivriniel is not completely absolute in her views - she has her soft spots, however small they may be.

When I first realised what had happened to Ivriniel, I did wonder whether to go with the version I had written, or to alter the story to keep her as more of a "cool aunt". But then I decided to take this route, because of the complex conflict and relationships it introduces.

Éowyn definitely has already connected a lot of pieces, and I think her impact may put things into motion Ivriniel did not foresee!

 **Wondereye -** I hope this chapter answers what's going on with Éomer!

 **Dunlander -** I'm sorry to hear the story was not able to make you curious enough to want to find out how the situation is resolved. It seems strange to me to read all fourteen chapters and then give up when the writer introduces some real conflict. I do think Éomer is decent and flexible enough to be able to see that there is a huge difference between a deliberate insult and being manipulated by an abusive family member into doing a hurtful thing.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

Light of early afternoon glowed warmly in the great halls of the castle by the sea. Summer was growing old, but here in the southern coast of Gondor, weathers were always mild. There was no other place in the world Imrahil loved as well as his city by the sea, but this day he hardly paid enough attention to admire the beauty of his ancestral home. He was thinking of his daughter.

Lady Éowyn's words only yesterday had not left him since the moment they had been uttered. _Save your daughter while you still can_ , she had said, startling him in some profound and unsettling ways. Yes, he had noticed at once upon his return that Lothíriel seemed paler and thinner than usual. He had thought maybe she had contracted something in Pelargir and was ill, or a disagreement with Éomer had left her listless – so he had explained to himself her abrupt departure from Pelargir. And so, up until the moment Éowyn had pulled him aside and in solemn tones told him to take his daughter away from this city, Imrahil had remained as blind as he had been for a long time now.

 _Too long,_ he thought to himself grimly as his pace grew faster. He was headed to the west wing, where all apartments of his family were located. In his mind, he was bracing himself for the confrontation he would soon have.

He suppressed a sigh. It was no wonder Éowyn had seen through it all. Like her brother, she was not easily deceived when it came to one's true character. But Imrahil knew her history, and that made her more perceptive to perils of mortal mind in ways most people were not.

His chief misgiving was that one who had never met Lothíriel before had figured it out right away, when he had not. He had not seen his own daughter's distress when she most needed him.

However, he was not ignorant anymore.

At last, Imrahil reached the door of his sister. He knocked lightly and was called inside by her smooth voice.

Ivriniel was seated by the window and she was reading a small book – perhaps a volume from their own library. Her silver-streaked hair was in elaborate braids proper for a woman of her status and age and her night-blue gown was simple but distinguished. She looked like any elderly lady of Gondor. He had never seen her in action, and so it was at times hard to believe who she had once been. Perhaps it was also part the reason he had so easily given her free reign over Lothíriel.

When he entered, she put aside her book and looked up.

"What is it, Imrahil?" she asked him. "If you have some mission, I'm afraid I must decline. Lothíriel is not in the state of mind to take action right now. She would only get hurt."

"No, I do not require the services of the Hidden Blade", Imrahil answered quietly. "I simply came to tell you that I am travelling to Minas Tirith again, and I'm taking Lothíriel with me."

Ivriniel tensed visibly on her seat and her eyes flashed, as though one challenged to a fight.

"It would not be wise at this time", she said slowly, evenly. "She is confused. She needs my guidance and mentoring, now more than ever. If you should take her away at this critical time, it would undo all our recent efforts."

"Your efforts to do what, exactly?" asked Imrahil. He folded his hands behind his back and met Ivriniel's gaze calmly.

"That, I cannot answer. I told you long ago you are happier not knowing our secrets", Ivriniel replied readily. Once, he might have believed her. But now Imrahil did not trust this was not some kind of a excuse she had made up in haste.

"Well, if you cannot give me a valid reason, then I won't be able to grant your request. She comes with me", he stated. Though his voice was steady, inside he felt a sting of sadness. To have to confront his own sister like this, and not trusting anything she said... once, she had been as innocent and bright as anyone.

"Imrahil, you must have seen how she is. She is not fit to leave Dol Amroth. If you take her away now, you risk doing permanent damage. Do you really wish to lose one of your deadliest assets?" Ivriniel asked him heatedly. Her grey eyes sparking in a rare bout of emotion.

"I risk doing permanent damage if I leave her here, Ivriniel. And she is not just an asset to me – she's my only daughter: I would sacrifice the former for the sake of the latter in a heartbeat", he answered. How far would his sister go to keep Lothíriel here? Was it enough he used his authority as her father, or did he have to give an order as the Prince of Dol Amroth? He hoped it would not come to that. After all, Ivriniel was still his own sister.

"That is dangerous thinking. If she abandons her post, then who will carry on our work? Who then guards Dol Amroth from the shadows?" Ivriniel asked.

"Hidden Blade was invented once", said Imrahil slowly, "and it can be invented again, if need be. But I will not let it be my daughter's only choice. She was never given a chance to truly make up her mind, and the least I owe her is a chance to consider having another life. You owe it to her, too."

The sparks in Ivriniel's eyes became colder than before. Her mouth was a thin line now, and her displeasure was as though a tangible thing.

"You have no right to do this, Imrahil", she said and her voice almost sounded like a hiss.

"I have no right? I am her father. Who has right if not I?" he asked loudly. Her words stung him more than he could have expected. How could she say something so hurtful, and so untrue? That he could not care for his own child?

"You gave her up to me, brother. You gave me your blessing. Are you now taking back your word?" she asked and slowly rose up on her feet.

"To help my daughter and try to make her happy again? Absolutely", he answered without hesitation. Somehow, this made him even more determined.

Ivriniel's expression was not pretty, and she looked like she would have said something, but he continued before she could open her mouth again.

"I will not hear another objection from you. Lothíriel travels with me and that is my final word on the matter. For she is still my daughter, and you have no right to wield this power over her, especially if it is making her miserable. I advise you to stay away from her for the time being... or I may have to forget that you are my only living sister", said Imrahil, loud and clear. And though his heart ached for having to be so harsh and stern with Ivriniel, he knew it was the only way. Éowyn had told him to save his daughter and he would do so, no matter the personal cost.

So he turned around and left, and deep down he knew he had done the right thing.

* * *

After Éowyn and Faramir had gone, Lothíriel expected things would go back the way they used to be before her mission to save _his_ life. But soon enough she was to realise that their visit had started something, like a stone dropping in water and sending rippling waves that grew larger and larger as they spread. Like she would consider later on, Rohirrim were still bound to disrupt her life. Or, maybe not Rohirrim in general, but just the House of Eorl. For it was not two days later after the visit by her cousin and his wife that Father came to Lothíriel while she was sitting with her sister-in-law Aredhel, and announced that he was returning to Minas Tirith in a couple days of time.

"But you only just came home, Father Imrahil!" said Aredhel in dismay. "Is it because of corsairs, then?"

"Well, I believe it would be prudent of Dol Amroth to be present when they are interrogated, and I wish to show how grave this matter is to us. But it's not my only reason", he answered slowly. He directed his gaze at his daughter, "It would please me if you joined me, Lothíriel."

Lothíriel was at first too surprised to say anything, until she opened her mouth and was about to say that Aunt would probably disapprove. But Father must have guessed her thought, as he went on to speak before she could get one word out.

"And don't you worry about your old aunt. We already talked this over, and I reminded her that you _are_ my daughter. I have withheld that right for a long time, but there are a few lessons father may share with his children. While I do not doubt the usefulness of your aunt's education, it's seriously lacking in the matter of politics and court life, and where better to learn those than in the White City?" he said, smiling as he spoke. But there was steel in his eyes, although Lothíriel could tell it was not directed her or Aredhel. She could only assume Aunt had put up a fight.

She sighed to herself; sometimes she felt like she was being pulled apart in some kind of a tug of war. But then she remembered she ought to answer something, and so looked at her sire, who looked at her expectantly.

"If that is what you have decided, Father", she said simply. He looked at her with a strange expression, as though he had half expected her to object, and was surprised that she didn't.

But then he seemed to shake himself and smiled a little.

"Very good. We'll be leaving the day after tomorrow. Aredhel, will you help her pack? You'll know the proper attires for the royal court", he said, looking at Elphir's wife, who was much more understanding with matters like this.

"Of course, Father Imrahil. When I'm through with her, you won't recognise your daughter", Aredhel said and smiled.

This answer seemed to please him well enough and after excusing himself he was gone again, leaving the two women to their devices. Aredhel looked at Lothíriel expectantly, but the younger woman sat silent.

"Are you all right, sister?" Aredhel asked at last in a soft, wary voice.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Lothíriel asked back and shrugged. Why did everyone keep asking her that?

Obviously it was not the answer her sister-in-law hoped for, judging by her frown.

"Aren't you at all excited? You get to go to Minas Tirith! And your father is close friends with King Elessar and Queen Arwen. No doubt you'll be spending time with them, too. Many a young lady in the land would envy you!" said Elphir's wife as though in an attempt to raise Lothíriel's own enthusiasm.

"Well, I suppose it won't be so bad, though cities are cities and if you have seen one, you've seen most of them. Maybe it will be different than the last time I was there", Lothíriel said at last, though this too did not seem to please her sister-in-law.

Aredhel sighed and shook her head.

"I think it will be good for you, sister. Get away from this place a little and spend some time with your father. I know it's not always easy when you are an only daughter and the youngest child…" she said and shook her head. She let out a small sigh before a smile rose to her features once more. "But you needn't worry about a thing. I will help you make everything ready."

Lothíriel returned the smile, more out of courtesy than genuine enthusiasm. Deep down she felt guilty. Her father wanted to be with her – something she had often hoped as a young girl – and yet here she sat like it was all the same to her! Why was it so hard these days to get excited even about things she knew were good?

Indeed, it felt like Aredhel was more enthused about the matter than herself, and as the woman flitted back and forth between her wardrobe and a travelling trunk, Lothíriel eventually sat back – she would just be in her way. Soon enough her brother's wife announced her dresses were fit for the court, a bit outdated perhaps, but it would not matter particularly when Lothíriel had never been a social butterfly. Then she continued to move around, making a few wry and wondering comments about the pieces of garments she found in her kinswoman's wardrobe, and the princess could not help but laugh a bit.

Some of Aredhel high spirits infected her at last, and before the day ended, she considered the idea with an ounce of hope instead of just numb acceptance.

Curiously enough, Aunt Ivriniel made no appearance, and Lothíriel did not go seeking for her. She imagined the old woman would be in ill mood after having a disagreement with Father, and she didn't want to poison her own expectation with what were surely going to be some very bitter words. Momentarily, she even wondered if Aunt was angry with _her,_ too – if she thought this had been Lothíriel's own idea, and that she had been sneaking behind her mentor's back.

But truth was, for the first time in many years, she was not worrying so much about what Aunt would say. If her father wanted her to come with him to Minas Tirith, then she would do just that. Maybe Ivriniel was not always right about everything.

With these thoughts, Lothíriel was able to get some real rest the night before the departure, and so felt a little more ready for the journey in the morning than she had expected.

A maid arrived to help her get ready. Travelling formally with Father meant not making appearances in breeches and tunics that had seen their best day many years ago. Instead, she slipped on a gown of blue and silver and fastened her mother's string of pearls around her neck. When the maid was adding finishing touches in her hair, Lothíriel regarded her reflection in mirror and wondered at how different this young lady appeared. What would _he_ think if he saw her now? Would he say she looked beautiful, or angrily ask what role she was playing now? Not that there had been time to properly think it through, but she would have liked the idea of enticing him… being considered beautiful by him.

But there was nothing beautiful about her. She was ugly in all the ways that mattered, crooked and grown twisted, and it meant next to nothing what face she wore. All of them were wrong by _him._

"My lady, are you quite well?" asked the maid suddenly, making Lothíriel almost jump. She could only guess what expression of hers had caused the woman break the silence and inquire after her well-being, for no trace of it remained on her face when she glanced at the mirror. Unless, of course, you counted the hollow look in her eyes.

"Yes, of course. I just got distracted", said Lothíriel and conjured a smile. Apparently, it satisfied the maid, for no more questions were made after that awkward little moment.

As her trunks were packed and sent down to harbour, thanks to Aredhel's efforts, there wasn't much else to do than to go and join her family for breakfast. Lothíriel expected until the very last moment for her aunt to make an appearance, but the old woman remained absent. It had not troubled her before, but now she did feel a little uneasy and also hurt. Why wouldn't Aunt even come to tell her goodbye? Was she truly so angry with her going?

Well, it couldn't be helped now, and Father's fussing prevented her from going by herself to seek for Aunt Ivriniel. He was watching her like a hawk, asking questions whenever he deemed she was growing distracted, and even going as far as employing Aredhel in keeping her attention. Lothíriel said nothing but she did wonder.

All three of her brothers and her sister-in-law came to send them on their way. Such a company caused bit of a stir in the port, but Swan Knights kept order while the family of Prince Imrahil said goodbyes. Aredhel hugged her tightly and Elphir looked even more serious than usual. Amrothos too seemed to notice for once that something was unusual. It made Lothíriel feel self-conscious: she wasn't used to people making a fuss about her.

As such, it was a relief to get on the ship and away from all the attention. But Lothíriel also felt lost and directionless when her father lead her there. She had no situation to deal with, no plan to carry out. She had nothing to hope and nothing to expect in Minas Tirith, just long idle days of an ordinary noble lady. Well, maybe it was not kind of her to think so. What did she know of that life? After all, she'd get to spend some time with her father, perhaps meet Faramir and Éowyn again if they could travel again so soon after their trip to Dol Amroth. And finally be introduced to the famous King Elessar and his legendary wife, Queen Arwen Undómiel…

She glanced at her father, who was still by her side.

"Do you think they will like me? The King and Queen?" she asked him softly. What good could such high and bright people see in a spider like her? She imagined the King Elessar, whose adventures and heroic deeds were widely spoken of in Gondor, had vanquished many like her in his time.

Father smiled gently at her.

"Of course they will, my dear. You are a delightful young lady and they will love you", he said fondly to her. She managed to give him a smile. At least someone thought there was something genuinely positive about her.

Father was needed on the deck and so Lothíriel went below by herself. Her cabin was small but comfortable and it was situated close to his own. Her trunks were already there, but Lothíriel left them closed; she'd doubtlessly just wrinkle the dressed Aredhel and a couple of maids had so delicately folded and laid in place.

With a sigh, she took seat by a narrow window and gazed out. The ship was already on the move, leaving the city of Dol Amroth behind. She could see a small strip of her home through the window. Why did she feel so little at leaving this place? Shouldn't one be sad to see one's home behind them? But for so many days now, there had been a numbness about her thoughts that was only pierced at times, and most often by the memory of _him._ It made sense, she supposed. _He_ lived so boldly and truly, making the world a little richer just by existing in it, that one could not feel empty even when one was simply thinking of him.

Lothíriel rubbed her eyes and quickly turned the direction of her thoughts. He was a dangerous memory and he would never go away as long as he had this power over her.

It was smooth sailing all the way until evening. Lothíriel had expected to spend the night alone, but Father asked her to dine with him, which invitation she was happy to accept. In fact, the idea caused a burst of warmth spreading in her chest, and she felt like when she was a small girl and had her father's attention all to herself. It was odd, how after all the things Aunt had told her and all the nastiness of human nature that she had witnessed, she could still feel like she used to as a child.

So Lothíriel joined her father in his cabin, where a table was already set for them. He smiled warmly when she came and hugged her before they took seat. For the first time, she began to feel instead of just knowing it _had_ been a good idea to take this journey with Father to Minas Tirith.

And perhaps it was because of this, and because of her earlier numb indifference to whether she stayed or travelled, she did not guess what Father's motive truly was, not until he finally revealed the reason for their leaving Dol Amroth so soon after he had got back.

Once they had their meals before them and their glasses were filled with drink, Father looked at her straight and serious.

"Daughter, I would like to ask you something. And please, answer me truthfully. You needn't be afraid of saying anything. I would like us to be honest with one another", he began, much to her surprise. She couldn't imagine what reason would he have to say something like this – like he thought she was scared of telling him the truth.

Scared… or incapable? That was a disturbing thought.

"Of course, Father", she said, masking her wonder.

He considered her for a minute before saying anything. A faint crease had appeared on his brow and she thought he looked concerned. She tried to smile at him in the hopes of easing his worry.

"Lothíriel…" he began, gentle as ever, "Are you happy in Dol Amroth?"

Whatever she had expected him to say, it wasn't this. She shrugged.

"It's my home", she merely said. At once, she saw his frown growing deeper. Obviously her answer had not been to his liking.

"Indeed it is", Father said heavily, "But I would like to know if you feel glad to be there. Or… if there's something about it that makes you less than content."

Lothíriel looked down and tried to think what to say. Though she didn't feel very hungry anymore, she lifted a piece of steaming fish in her mouth just to get some time. She really didn't know how to answer. Well, she was not so deaf and blind that she hadn't noticed her own mood as of late. But none of that had anything to do with Dol Amroth. All of her sadness was over letting herself think she could have another life, and finding that it was not so… it was _him_ she missed and grieved for, not the city of her birth. And there was guilt over the way she had betrayed him, let him go and believe that she did not think the world of him.

That it was her own unsuitability, not his, to make her leave.

"All that I do, I do for Dol Amroth. If I hated my home or was not content there, why would I put myself at risk?" she said at last, unsure if this was the answer her father was expecting.

"Maybe you do it because someone told you to", he said slowly. "Because you feel you have no other choice."

She bit her lip. Aunt had made it very clear she didn't have a choice… or, that it would at least be a very poor one to go some other way. But that wasn't the same thing, was it? It worried her that she couldn't tell.

"Is it bad, then? Me doing what Aunt did before me?" she asked her father and noted he had touched his own food as little as she had hers.

"Not in itself, perhaps, though I have wondered about it as of late", Father said and sipped some wine. He put the glass down again and let out a sigh, "I'm more worried about what is going on between you and your aunt."

"Why would you be?" Lothíriel asked warily. Part of her felt like running out of the cabin, as though she was going to have to admit something shameful if she stayed too long. But he had asked her to speak truthfully, and even if she lied to whole world, her father she could not deceive even if she wanted.

"I spoke with Éowyn before she and Faramir left", he answered in a strong voice. "And she brought some concerns to my attention – concerns I should have realised before she made any mention of them. I am worried about you, Lothíriel, just as she was."

She didn't say anything right away. There was a strange sensation of betrayal, as though Éowyn had somehow failed her trust. Well, she had known from the start that the White Lady did not walk with her eyes closed. Aunt had known that too when she had said it would be prudent to stay away from the woman. But that Éowyn would go tattling to Father…

On the other hand, wasn't everyone asking her if she was all right these days? Wouldn't anyone worry about their friends and family if it looked like something was wrong? No, Éowyn hadn't done anything wrong to reveal her concerns to Father. She was just… she just did what a friend would do.

Lothíriel looked down again. How confused she felt! It was like parts of her were at war with one another. There was the deadly spider trained by Aunt Ivriniel, loathing the merest implication she was _weak,_ that she needed to be worried over by people. But there was also a girl who had grown up with teasing, loving brothers who lifted her up from a tidepool when she fell in and comforted her when she scraped her knees. There was the woman who had fallen in love with a brave, honest man and knew the value of the things he stood for... the woman whose heart was broken.

"You needn't worry about me, Father", she said at last and forced herself to meet his eyes. "I… I will be all right. Perhaps not yet, but some day it's going to be fine."

He looked at her as though something she said made him sad.

"My dear daughter", he said softly, "Don't you see it doesn't have to be that way? You don't have to try and reconcile with something that causes you pain. If this life of carrying on your aunt's work makes you unhappy, then you don't have to go on. You don't have to take your orders from her, Lothíriel."

She looked at him in confusion.

"But doesn't Dol Amroth need me?" she asked unsurely.

"Others can take your place. I know how your aunt thinks about your position, but maybe she's not right. You don't have to carry the weight of Dol Amroth on your back. Especially not if it's starting to break you", Father said, stern almost. Then he reached over the table and touched her hand, and spoke in a gentler voice, "Lothíriel, I have treated you as an asset for too long. But I see now that I was wrong. You are my only daughter and I will not sacrifice you… the way your aunt was sacrificed."

She stared in silence, and he went on. His voice grew strong and steadfast again.

"Lothíriel, I have been blind. I have ignored the way she treats you, the way she pulls your strings to keep you in line and complacent. She's turning you into something as cold and terrible as she herself is, and it's a wonder you have fought it so long… and I see now that if this goes on, I'm going to lose the daughter I love, just as I lost her. And you have so much in life to do and to see, and I wish you to have a chance to enjoy all of it, if you so wish. _This_ should not be your only choice. If that's what she's been telling you, then she's wrong. Lothíriel, it is not and it has never been _her_ choice to impose on _you."_

Tears had begun streaming down her face and there was nothing she could do to stop them. All of her training, all the ways Aunt had taught her to control herself and her emotions… it was as though none of that had ever happened. She was crying and her heart ached like it never had before. And her mind was so confused, because she was so lost and uncertain; nothing made sense anymore, she had no idea of who she was supposed to be, and how _could_ she choose anything when she knew nothing?

She covered her mouth in an attempt to stifle her sobs. But then a pair of gentle arms wrapped around her and her father picked her up like she was a lost, scared child. Then she could not hold any of it back anymore, and was at last weeping uncontrollably. Father held her tightly against his chest.

"I am so sorry I let this happen to you. I should have protected you, my dear daughter… I should have known what she was asking when she first wanted to train you", he murmured against her hair, almost making her cry even harder. It hit her then, the hardest and yet the most obvious realisation in the world: she had a father who loved her. And he would never put her through things like Aunt would, he wouldn't demean her when she failed, or tell her what she could or couldn't choose. Had it been him to hear Éomer had proposed to her, he would have received those news joyfully.

All she had needed to do was ask for his help and guidance. And maybe if she had, things would have gone vastly different.

It took her a while to calm down, but at last her tears ceased and she awkwardly smoothed the now wet spot on the front of his coat and mumbled an embarrassed apology. Father regarded her with a sad little smile.

"You go to your missions so bravely that sometimes I forget how young you are, daughter. And I wonder what you could be now, had I acted as I should all those years ago", he said softly.

"But if you had, some who live now would have died", she said half-heartedly and thought of _him._ The idea of a world without him living in it was unbearable and she quickly dismissed it, as she did not want to suffer another crying fit.

"Maybe so. I do not say you haven't done a lot of good for our people. But still… it is my wish that you take a break from it all. Think things through, Lothíriel, and decide if you really want to keep doing what… what your aunt trained you for. Only know that I do not expect you to choose either way", Father said and awkwardly rubbed the remnants of tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. He frowned slightly, "My chief concern is that you don't have to be near your aunt for a while."

She thought of this as they took seat once more. She really wasn't sure what to think of all this.

"Father… if I stop doing this, then what am I supposed to do with my life?" she asked at length. It was all she knew, after all. For a brief while, she had seen a glimpse of light in her horizon – a promise of finding a new life beyond all shadows. But that chance had passed from her grasp when she had betrayed _him._ And he wasn't coming back to raise her from this dark place.

Father gave her a wry little smile.

"No one has that answer, Lothíriel. We all must figure it out for ourselves. But you are still young and there is much that you can achieve, if you choose so. Don't think you must do it all today or tomorrow. Take your time and find your own way when it feels right", he told her solemnly.

"And this is why you are taking me to Minas Tirith", she concluded at length. Both their portions had already cooled down, but she suspected neither of them felt truly hungry for food.

"Indeed. But like I said, it's to get you away from your aunt. It is clear her company is not good for you, and you should make your decision without her to influence it", Father answered and a stern tone appeared in his voice as he poured himself some more wine. He even started to eat again, and looked like he hardly noticed his food had got cold.

"What will happen if I want to quit?" Lothíriel asked. She couldn't imagine Aunt Ivriniel giving up without a fight, though she was also unsure of _what_ the woman could do in that case.

"Then we will make arrangements to keep her away from you. You could stay in Minas Tirith; I'm sure Arwen would be delighted to have you as her handmaid. On the other hand, Faramir would no doubt have use for a scout with your set of skills", Father answered confidently. She couldn't say she was opposed to either of these ideas, but Lothíriel decided it was too soon to consider it further.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Granted, world would probably never be so bright as it had been in _his_ presence. But that didn't mean she couldn't learn to appreciate the stars, for that was still more light than she had seen until meeting him. And maybe one day she would find someone who would make her feel some of the good and the fair that had been so abundant with _him._ Perhaps, in a way, he could still teach her how to be free, even if he was gone.

And no matter happened to her after now, this would always be _his_ gift to her.

* * *

It did not take long until the rumour spread: Éomer King was looking for a bride.

He had rather expected it would be quick to become common knowledge. Leofstan would talk about with the other members of the royal council, they would discuss it among themselves, and eventually make mentions to their wives, perhaps ask for their suggestions. After that, half the realm would know, until it became a matter of national interest. The continuance of the House of Eorl was a dire question, as Éomer knew very well.

But as the word spread on those weeks before his trip to Mundburg, he carefully avoided bringing it up himself, and if he received offers – some more thinly veiled than others – from hopeful fathers of Eorling ladies, he was quick to change the topic. He was not going to make up his mind before Leofstan and the council had compiled a list; in this matter, he trusted their judgement more than his own. For when he thought of the young women of the Mark, he soon found himself comparing them to _her…_ at least until he realised what he was doing. And then he would fiercely think of how the qualities he had admired in her were not real. They were just things she had shown him and wanted him to believe. As such, his own considerations were bound to fail. An imaginary woman still held him captive.

Be that as it may, it would not be until after his trip to Mundburg that Leofstan had his list ready, and there would be a few months to make up his mind. Or, if decision proved to be hard, he could always postpone it until Yuletide. Yet sooner it was made, the better.

Perhaps then he could truly begin to forget _her._

As days passed and the topic came up in various circumstances, Éomer found himself at times wondering about what it would be like. He worried, too. Could he be a good husband or a father? What did he know of happy homes? His experience of family was broken in many ways, for his own childhood had ended the day his father had died, and by the time Mother followed Father to grave, things were already so badly out of order that nothing could fix it. Not that Uncle and Théodred had not treated him and Éowyn well; to this date, Éomer thought of them as much as his family as his parents. But it had not been normal. Uncle had his duties as king and he had grieved for his late wife too long to know how to make home. As for Théodred, he was often away, and being the King's only son raised first by a nurse maid and then men of war, there had been hardness and distance in him unlike most people. Théodred had not known how to talk about his feelings, and even less about those of his angry, temperamental young cousin. When Aunt Elfhild had died, her passing had left behind two men who were equally wounded, just in different ways.

Something about _her_ had made him feel these things didn't matter so much. Or, that they were something they could learn and figure out together, because _she_ too had been raised in a very unusual way. There had been a promise of a kind of companionship he had not thought possible, at least not for himself. But when he took a bride in the Mark, there would be certain expectations she would have for him, and Éomer had no idea if he could meet them. He could only hope he would find the wisdom he needed in this matter

It was not long that Éothain brought the matter up between them. The young king had rather expected it, knowing his recent actions would make up a confusing picture. Only Éowyn knew the full tale, but he assumed Éothain already guessed much of it. And so it was inevitable he would wonder out loud.

The captain opened his mouth one day after their sparring session. It was a hot day and both were sweating hard by the time they finished. Éomer threw a water-skin to his friend, who had taken off his shirt, much to the enjoyment a few young lasses who had stopped by to admire the view. Of course, Éothain was oblivious to them, as he generally had been since the day he had met his wife. Some people got to be so lucky.

Éothain splashed some water on his head as they took seat near the training ring. Further away Éomer's master at arms, Guthlaf he was called, was fast at work as he barked orders to young Riders of the Muster of Edoras.

"So", Éothain began in his _let's-have-a-conversation -_ tone, which was well known to Éomer. They had been friends too long and the captain could not mask his intention even if he wanted. The man looked at him thoughtfully, "How soon are we riding back to Mundburg?"

"I'm thinking of second week of August", Éomer answered and accepted the water-skin from his friend. He took a long sip of the cold drink before continuing, "Hopefully Aragorn will have got something out of the corsairs by then… they have been reluctant to answer his questions so far. I did suggest they might be more willing to talk after half an hour with Éowyn."

His wry comment made Éothain laugh.

"If Éowyn was allowed to spend time unsupervised with them, they wouldn't be talking, my friend – they would be _singing",_ he quipped. Éomer laughed as well at the idea. He had no doubt the name of his sister was whispered in fear and awe as far as Umbar.

"Indeed", Éomer said, but his chuckles died when he went on to speak, "Either way, I need to know if the southern armies are stirring. I hope not, at least. We need more time to rebuild."

"Surely Aragorn knows that?" Éothain asked carefully.

"He does and he won't ask my help. But we both know it would be smart to make our move before Umbar is ready to make _theirs",_ Éomer said grimly. His captain grunted in agreement.

"So it's going to be all business and no pleasure", Éothain noted and brushed back his damp hair. "I admit, Scýne and I wondered if you were going to ask Aragorn for another list like the one Leofstan is compiling."

His words were delivered delicately – at least, as delicately as Éothain was able.

Éomer tried not to grimace. He fixed his eyes on Guthlaf as the man demonstrated a move to disarm one's opponent. Some of the younger Riders looked like the master at arms had just performed some kind of a magic trick.

"I am not. It will be difficult enough to choose without a bunch of Gondorians sticking their noses in it", he muttered under his breath.

"Well", Éothain started slowly, "If it's difficult, why are you doing it now? I know people keep pressing you to get married, but if it doesn't feel right..."

His voice trailed off, but his implications were clear enough. Éomer let out a groan.

"You know it's not that simple for me. I can't go dawdling much longer, and it has not got any easier with time. I need to try and move on, even if I have to make myself", he said, still staring at Guthlaf's figure but not really understanding anything he saw. Even so, he felt Éothain's eyes on himself.

"It's because of _her,_ isn't it? You still want her?" he asked in a quiet voice.

Now the younger man could not hold back his cringe. He hated how close to home his friend hit with his guesses.

"I want the woman I thought she was. But she doesn't exist", he stated, trying to sound angry but not quite succeeding. He just sounded miserable and it made him twice as frustrated. How much longer would _she_ hold on to him and prevent him from moving on? How many more weeks would he have to battle his disappointment and keep feeling like something was fundamentally broken?

"Not to say I know her better than you do", Éothain began carefully, "but when I briefly saw her in the harbour of Pelargir, she _was_ concerned about you. Uncommonly so, I thought – until you said that you liked her."

"Of course she was concerned. The honour and good name of her family were at stake", Éomer said and drank some more water, if just to give himself something to do.

"Is that the full truth? You must know I don't say this because I want to twist the knife. I just need to make sure you're not moving too quickly. That you're not leaving things unresolved because you're letting your pride get in way. When you fast your hand with someone, it's a choice you can't unmake", Éothain said gravely.

Éomer got up on his feet in a swift, sharp movement. He knew where this conversation would go, if he let it continue. Once Éothain got some idea in his head, he'd stubbornly cling to it. And he would know no peace while his captain went on and on.

"It is finished, Éothain. She is gone and I would be foolish not to accept that. I must move on whether I want it or not, and this is the best way I can think of right now. Leofstan and the royal council will only consider the most qualified alternatives and they won't be hindered by some misguided sentiment like I am", he stated in determination and picked up his sword.

But his captain was not impressed. He looked at Éomer with narrowed eyes.

"Listen to yourself, laddie. You sound _heartless._ This is not like you at all. Béma's balls, only two months ago you would never have left this question for your council to decide", he said very seriously, rising to his feet as well.

His observation cut deeper than Éomer would have expected. _Did_ he sound heartless? He couldn't say.

"You're not my mother, Éothain", he growled and grasped the training sword tightly in his hand. "So quit nattering already. I told you it's finished. It's time to move on. I have to find a way to banish her."

"Do you?" Éothain asked. He was grasping his sword as well, but his eyes revealed his doubt. " _Do_ you believe you'll forget her if you bind yourself to some unsuspecting young lady who probably expects you to be a caring husband who will give her his heart as well as the world? Do you think you will stop loving Lothíriel of Dol Amroth by denying her?"

The young king did not give other answer than a growl and a sudden strike of the training sword, which Éothain met readily as ever. The man dared to use _her_ name! No, he wasn't about to explain that he did not mean to lead on whoever got the dubious honour of becoming his wife, but make it clear from the start it would be a marriage of convenience… and he wasn't going to be talking about _her_ any longer.

She was not coming back. Yet she would never leave if he kept giving her ways to cling to his every thought. The captain was more right than Éomer had wanted to admit. The reason her betrayal had so hurt him was because he loved her – because he _still_ loved her. And as long as he did, no amount of denial would ever drive her away.

Damn Éothain and his wagging tongue!

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** And here's an update! It was great writing this one, especially parts with Imrahil. His eyes are open now and Ivriniel is not going to fool him again! But him bonding with Lothíriel in an entirely new way, and her realising how much he does care about her almost made me tear up. I don't think she herself even understands yet how much that means.

I also wanted to toss in something from Éomer's POV. He's not moving any direction as much as her, though he is trying. However, I think Éothain is very correct about his observations. Éomer has little hope of moving on while he still loves Lothíriel.

Thank you for reading and reviewing!

* * *

 **lovelykxz -** For me, it is this emotional struggle that makes them human. Without it, it would indeed be too easy to write them off as a bad ass ninja and an alpha male. But this loss and grief and confusion shows that they both have uncertainty and vulnerability, but also that there's something exceptional they can give one another.

Even at the risk of venturing into the "love at first sight" territory, I do think there was love between them already, or at least first stages of it. I hoped to convey the sense that they connect with one another almost immediately, and somewhere deep feel that this is the person they could fall in love with, and keep falling in love with even after years have gone by. It would not hurt them so or be so hard to move on from, if there was not something real about it. I do believe people can connect in a powerful way even when they have not known one another for long. But it absolutely does take time and investment to keep feeling that connection and make it grow into something lasting.

 **Tibblets -** We'll see! ;)

 **heckofabecka -** I think Éowyn would have that kind of sensitivity after her own ordeals. She knows how to deal with a person who is in a delicate mental state. And that is indeed the reason Lothíriel warms up to her; at that point, she is not yet ready to see what her aunt is doing to her.

And you are correct: Ivriniel's reactions stem from her fear of losing Lothíriel - the only person who can in any way understand her. But I don't think she expected Imrahil to take action like this!

It would be great to see Florence one day!

 **Doranwen -** Oh, he has no idea of what a crafty woman she is! And I hope you liked what Imrahil did in this chapter. :)

 **EStrunk -** Éowyn's own situation was in many ways different, but I think there are certain similarities, too. And seeing how she finds resolve to become a healer at the end of _ROTK,_ I think she has deep understanding for these kind of things and a desire to help out where she can.

Ivriniel definitely did not foresee that Éowyn might actually take action and talk to Imrahil, too! But that's the flaw in her own character. She was conditioned to despise people interacting like that, so she doesn't see it coming, either.

No relief for Éomer yet, but at least Éothain may have put some ideas in his head...

 **Jo -** If anyone could figure it out, Éowyn would!

 **Wondereye -** I hope you liked the bit with Éomer and Éothain in the end!

 **Boramir -** Ivriniel is probably counting on it never being discovered. And, even if it did, she is either cunning enough to save herself, or she trusts that her position as Imrahil's sister grants her immunity. Granted, such deed can't do any good for relationships between Gondor and Rohan. But is it going to start a war? Doubtful.

 **RubberKidney -** Indeed, Éowyn is a kind of opponent Ivriniel does not understand!

 **Anon -** Of course, their situations are not identical. But there are many similarities, and Éowyn knows when someone is in a cage of their own mind. But I'm not sure she would employ such tactics, not when she doesn't know Ivriniel's full capacity.

I hope you liked the exchange between Imrahil and Lothíriel. I think it was really important for them both.

 **Merakia -** We can only wonder about that! ;) But I think she does know even without reading what it's about.

Hopefully you liked what Imrahil does in this chapter! I also enjoyed writing those shifts in perspective. They allow me to write a fuller story, if you get what I mean. :)

 **sai19 -** You are quite right! Éowyn can't save Lothíriel, but she can be support and a shoulder to cry on. I think she is important in showing Lothíriel that there is a world outside her little sphere.

Indeed things can't be too easy, but at least Lothíriel is now away from her aunt!


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

The morning was fair and bright and as Imrahil did not have any pressing business for it, he presented his daughter with the idea that had occurred to him upon waking: would she like to come and ride to Osgiliath with him?

She lifted up her eyes and smiled a little as she accepted the suggestion, and so after the breakfast they met in the courtyard of the town house, where horses were ready and waiting, and made their way through the city. Imrahil could tell it was going to be a warm day, but at least there was always some wind by the river. He thought of Dol Amroth by the sea with some longing, but did not allow the idea to linger. He would stay in Minas Tirith as long as Lothíriel needed him.

He glanced at his daughter, who rode by his side. She had picked a light tunic and breeches for the trip – a sensible array for climbing up and down the rubble and stone that littered Osgiliath. At least the filth of the orcs from the siege of Gondor had been cleaned away.

Looking at his youngest, Imrahil felt some concern, as he inevitably did these days. They had been in the city for a couple of weeks now, but her mood had improved only slightly. And she was not making many friends, though they had attended court gatherings and other social events, where she could meet plenty of other young people. Lothíriel still kept to herself and to him, wandering the city alone and joining him for outings only when he asked. He tried to tell himself it was too soon to expect a change in her. She had been under her aunt's thumb for too long to feel comfortable in the noble society right away.

But at least Queen Arwen was being more than welcoming, and Faramir and Éowyn would soon be arriving in the city as well. There had already been a tentative friendship between his daughter and the White Lady, and Imrahil hoped it would truly blossom once they got a chance to spend time here, away from Ivriniel's influence. And perhaps finding her place would be easier with the help of friends.

They rode quickly over the fields of Pelennor and reached the river before sun had reached her zenith. When they reached the ruins, they left their horses behind and a couple of Swan Knights to watch over the animals. The old road from Minas Tirith to Osgiliath was now in more frequent use than the dark days before the War of the Ring. A new temporary bridge had been built over the river to make the travel easier, but it would be a while before a more permanent solution could be achieved. The old ruin did not yet have new inhabitants except for guard posts, but Aragorn was planning to first establishing a barracks as a foundation for re-settling the city.

All this Imrahil explained to his daughter, who was listening carefully to his tales and anecdotes. She asked questions here and there as they wandered over the ruins of what had once been a beautiful city. Where Minas Tirith was fully and truly a watchtower, Osgiliath had been built to please the aesthetic eye of Númenóreans who still remembered the beauty of their lost home. He showed where guards had stood during the long struggle against Mordor, and what had been the more notable spots of the city. Of the King's House only a few stones remained.

Lothíriel looked around herself with a bittersweet expression.

"Do you ever feel sad to look at it, Father?" she asked him as they strolled down what had been the main road of Osgiliath. It ran down to the river, where the temporary bridge stood. There were guards at both sides now, for no one wanted orcs or marauding Southrons come creeping and raid the unsuspecting folk living at the Pelennor fields.

"Sometimes. But I also see the potential that is here – lives that could be built in this place", said Imrahil and cast a smile at his daughter.

"Yes. Of course. But I wonder about the people who used to live here... what it felt like to leave it and know all their memories were crumbling to dust", she said thoughtfully and kicked a small loose stone.

"Well, I would think they were comforted to know that cities can be rebuilt and new memories made. It's not stone that makes a home, it's people", he said gently and touched her shoulder.

A frown twisted her features.

"But what if they too are gone?" she asked him softly. Her melancholy tone did not surprise him, though it did worry him. She was too young to be grieving all the world's sorrows.

"Why do you burden yourself with an idea so bleak, daughter?" he asked back, halting to stand beside her. "Where there is life, there is hope. It is possible to build anew. Think of your cousin Faramir and his wife. They were not left alone, though they have lost so many people they loved."

"But _he_ is", she whispered and looked over the river.

Imrahil regarded his daughter in wonder.

"What do you mean?" he asked her, but even as he was speaking, she seemed to shake herself.

"Nothing, Father. I was just... it's nothing. Don't worry about it", she said pertly and began to move again. He followed her and though he said nothing, Imrahil's mind was not left idle.

They took a cold lunch on the rocks near the bank of the river. It had been someone's little kitchen orchard once, or so his daughter assumed; she pointed out a few herbs and plants that would be commonly found in such places and still lived here, though people were long gone. Lothíriel seemed to have forgotten whatever had saddened her before, and Imrahil too relaxed little bit. Here was the daughter he knew and loved, who had endured Ivriniel's attempts to mold her into something she was not. His heart ached when he thought of what he had almost let happen to her, but he hid these notions the best he could. After all, he had hoped to cheer up his daughter by bringing her here.

It appeared his plan was working. She was smiling and even laughing a little as they spoke and feasted on his bounty from the kitchen of town house. Imrahil had told the cook to pack some of Lothíriel favourite treats and he was pleased to spy looks of delight when she opened her bundle. Quietly, he wondered what kind of a woman she would have become if he had told Ivriniel to stay away from her.

"This is really nice, Father", she said suddenly, disrupting his line of thought. "Thank you for bringing me here."

"It was my pleasure", he said and offered her a smile. "Your mother loved to come here back when we used to have more time. Her handmaids were quite horrified. They seemed to think orcs would come storming over the bridge and take us if we lingered here too long."

"Why did you stop coming here?" she asked him.

"Well, Elphir was born, and your grandfather needed me more and more in Dol Amroth", Imrahil responded and let out a soft sigh as he thought of those days long gone. One night he remembered, and moonlight over the ruins of the city... his wife's quiet laughter as they wandered under summer stars and being told off by his second in command when they returned to the city close to dawn.

"Trust Elphir to put an end to all the fun. He was such a demanding child", Lothíriel jested wryly. Imrahil laughed. They both knew Elphir was one of the most responsible and caring brothers that had ever lived, and in any case she had been too small to really know her eldest brother as a child.

"I had more headache from Amrothos, to be honest", he said warmly. "He can be so carefree and reckless. But he never was malicious or selfish... and you, my dear daughter, almost raised yourself after your mother left us."

Her expression sobered and she looked over the river to the other side. Hot afternoon sun made the air almost seem hazy.

"I miss her, Father", she said quietly and held her waterskin between her hands. "I wish she were here and I could talk to her. Maybe then I wouldn't feel so lost."

His heart ached as he looked at her. She seemed so young and so uncertain.

"It was an evil fate to lose her so soon", he said and reached to gently touch her arm. "But I suppose I never understood what a loss it was for you, being left to manage with so many men around you, and no proper female company. We never much talked about it, but I don't think your mother really approved of your aunt. I suppose she only kept her silence because she thought I would never question Ivriniel's position. I think... she would have known to protect you."

They were both silent for a moment, remembering their loved one. His dear Míriel had always been wary of Ivriniel, though she had not spoken against her, or explicitly told him to keep Lothíriel safe. So many things had been left unsaid...

"It's fine, Father. We all have done things wrong and made poor choices. You never did anything to imply I couldn't confide in you, and yet I acted like no one else except Aunt mattered or had valuable counsel... I let myself forget that I have a father who loves me", she said solemnly.

Imrahil felt his throat growing tight. He reached for the hand of his daughter and held it in his own. Here they were, speaking these heartfelt words... it was not yet too late. However wounded his youngest was, she was not beyond healing. And he – he had not lost her.

 _Save your daughter while you still can._

He was able to smile and she returned it. For a while they ate in silence, finishing their lunch as afternoon grew older. Like with Míriel, it was easy to lose one's sense of time in this ruined city where years had long since lost their meaning.

When they had gathered their things and turned to walk back to the horses, Imrahil looked at Lothíriel, and he asked: "Have you had any time to think things over? Do you wish to resume to your earlier work?"

"I really don't know", she said softly, eyes fixed on the ground. "I'm not sure I can do it without Aunt. And yet we both know what will happen if I go back to her... all of it is in the dark for me, Father. Even the person I see in the mirror seems unfamiliar."

"You will grow to know her again", he reassured her, though his heart felt heavy as stone. "You will find your way in time."

She looked at him and he thought he saw some hope in her eyes.

"Do you really think so?" she asked him. Strange it was, knowing how deadly and single-minded his daughter could be, and yet to see this uncertainty and vulnerability in her... he only hoped she would find a way to unite those parts of her, and not be always torn in two.

"Yes, sweetheart. I do believe it", he told her gently and wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

Imrahil thought his daughter did seem a little less troubled as they rode back to the city. She looked more ahead than down below. He smiled to himself. She had strength in her and it would get her through this.

When they reached the town house again, Lothíriel pecked his cheek and took her leave. But Imrahil was informed by his steward that a messenger from Aragorn was waiting for him inside, and so the Prince of Dol Amroth made his way quickly to meet the man. Perhaps his liege-lord had some urgent need of Imrahil – though in that case the messenger would probably have come look for him in Osgiliath.

It turned out the news were of a pleasant sort: King Éomer had arrived in the city and there would be a ball in his honour later this evening. Aragorn hoped that Imrahil could attend, even if the invitation came at such a short notice. He smiled slightly. There was no short notice between friends and he imagined there were plenty of noble lords in the city who would drop all other plans at hearing King Éomer would be there.

He sent the messenger back to the Citadel, bearing his answer: he would come indeed and bring his daughter as well. It would be a nice surprise for her, he thought. In Pelargir, he had got the sense that Éomer had grown to like her, so perhaps seeing a friend would help to cheer her up even more? Not to mention, her aunt had whisked her away so quickly that the two had not got a chance to rejoice in their successful efforts. No doubt they had plenty to talk about when they saw each other again... and maybe – just maybe – it could become something more.

Imrahil almost laughed at the simple beauty of the idea. Éomer was a good man, but also different enough he would understand Lothíriel's unconventional upbringing. After the struggles of his own sister he might be able to see her perspective unlike anyone else. And a life with him in Rohan... well, it would remove Lothíriel from Ivriniel's grasp for good. She would be safe. Someone so honest and true as Éomer would help her find her own way once more.

But he was getting ahead of himself. Lothíriel herself would decide whether Éomer was to her liking as a potential husband. He wasn't going to take her choices away from her like Ivriniel had tried. Yet neither would he stand in the way of what could be a very beautiful solution to a difficult situation. And so he told his steward to instruct the servants not to speak of King Éomer to Lothíriel; she wouldn't find out about his presence until they got to the ball.

Yes, it would be a wonderful surprise indeed.

* * *

Lothíriel had scarcely got out of her bath when a maid arrived and announced there would be a ball at the Citadel tonight, and Father wanted her to join him. She did not refuse, even if the idea caused her no particular excitement. So far, she had not been able to get very comfortable at the social gatherings of Minas Tirith. Not that there was something inherently wrong about it, but she simply didn't feel like she belonged there with the high and noble of the realm. It was such a different world, and she knew she could never be truly herself there. Like a spider, her eyes looked for dark, shadowy spots where she could retreat.

But Prince Imrahil's daughter could not go hiding or avoid certain amount of publicity. So whenever he asked her to go with him, she plastered a smile on her face and told herself it was simply another role. It was not even a particularly hard one, when one made effort.

The maid helped her to get ready. Her dress was simple enough, light blue silk without particular embellishments except about the wide skirts. The way it flowed when she moved reminded her of the sea. With it, she wore a string of Amrothian pearls on her neck and in her hair, which the maid arrayed to tumble down her back. Wryly Lothíriel thought this was another kind of dressing up, and it required a significantly lesser amount of plotting and stabbing. She managed to cause herself a surprise by realising she was actually thinking of how she might be able to hide a small blade inside her skirts.

When it was time to go down and join Father, she took one more look in the mirror to make sure she would not be laughed out of Merethrond. Her reflection still seemed a little pale, but perhaps not so full of shame and grief as before. She almost looked like a lady, even with her outdated dress and simple jewellery.

Father expected her in the entrance hall. He smiled when he saw her and said she was beautiful. She smiled back and wondered if this was how it felt like to be a perfectly ordinary noblewoman in Gondor, getting ready for a great ball in the city of kings and joining one's father to walk there in the fragrant evening. Would it be a happier life?

"Let us go, then", he said, and a pair of servants opened the twin doors for them. A few Swan Knights waited there and trailed the Prince and his daughter as they began to climb the road to the Citadel. It was not a long way, for the House of Dol Amroth was important enough to have lodgings near the heart of the city. Other nobles were going the same way and greetings were exchanged between them. Lothíriel was surprised to see so many of them. How big was this ball going to be, exactly? Surely the amount of people was unexpected, considering the invitation had only come this afternoon.

They reached the Citadel. Low fires marked the way to Merethrond but many groups of guests had chosen to stay outside and enjoy fresh air; it could get stuffy in the feasting hall when it was full of people at summertime. The doors leading inside were wide open and golden light streamed invitingly.

"I must say, sometimes the Citadel seems like an entire different place in the world, compared to the way it was before the war", Father said softly as they joined a line of people who were headed for Merethrond. Somewhere inside, Lothíriel heard the voice of a herald announcing the names of guests.

"Why do you think that is?" she asked him. She had been here a couple of times in past, but her last visit before coming here with Father was years ago. He was a much more frequent guest in Minas Tirith. But even so, she had to agree. In the days of Denethor, the Citadel of the White City had been a joyless place.

"There is no Shadow in the East anymore, which plays a big part. But it's because of Aragorn and Arwen, too. They light up this place, in a way... well, I expect they light up their surroundings wherever they go", he answered and let out a soft chuckle. She knew what he meant. It was easy to be in their presence, and particularly Queen Arwen. One might have expected that a character so legendary would constantly emanate an aura of far off loftiness that made her hard to approach, but Lothíriel had only felt welcomed with her, safe even. Maybe it was because she had previously had so few good relationships with other women.

Inevitably her thoughts turned to _him_. For he too was one of those luminous people whose light was gentle and comforting even to a creature of shadow.

They reached the line that was forming at the gates and halted there to wait for their turn. Merethrond was already full of laughter and noise, and candlelight gave a warm glow to white stone. Even she, with her wariness and doubt, could appreciate the light and life she beheld there.

Father touched her hand, which rested on his forearm.

"I did not tell you before, daughter", he whispered to her as he leaned closer, "for I wanted it to be a surprise. Our mutual friend Éomer is here tonight."

She froze dead on her tracks. It felt like all strength abruptly fell away and she stared ahead with wide eyes. _He_ was here! Of course! That explained why so many people had come!

"Father! Why didn't you tell me before? I can't – I can't see him! Not now!" she said in panic as her eyes already scanned the crowd for a tall, golden-haired man... half dreading the sight, and half yearning for it.

Her sire looked at her in astonishment.

"But why ever not? I thought you would be glad", he wondered out loud.

She felt like collapsing as she took support of his arm. What a fool she was! How could she ever think this would not come back to haunt her?

"I – I failed him, Father. We were... I was going to..." she stammered and tried to keep her voice down – there were a few people already staring at them. _Don't make a scene_. "He won't be happy to see me. I let him down like he meant nothing!"

The line moved a little bit, and she was only able to keep up because Father was moving them both. But his eyes were still fixed on her.

"Daughter", he said evenly, "What happened between you two?"

She felt miserable. There was no way she could avoid the truth now.

"He asked me to marry him. I told him yes", she mumbled in a defeated voice. "And then I left without even saying goodbye to him."

For a moment Father was silent. She didn't dare to look up, because she was too afraid of what she would see. He had been wonderful lately, taking her away from Aunt and being there for her, but how could that go on now when he knew her disgrace?

"Did you want to leave him?" he asked her at length. The line moved a little again, but this time she was able to use her own feet.

"I... I thought I did", she whispered. "Or... maybe I didn't really want to go. But I was scared he'd abandon me once he saw me for who I really am."

"And was it your aunt who made you think so?" he asked now.

"Y-yes", Lothíriel stammered and stared down at her feet. A part of her felt like she was betraying Aunt now, but her reason told it was not so. How could you betray someone who has never been your true friend to begin with?

Father sighed heavily before he said anything again. When he did, his voice was grave.

"Why didn't you tell me this before?" he wanted to know.

"Because... I was ashamed. And I didn't want to embarrass you", Lothíriel said quietly and swallowed hard at the lump that had stubbornly lodged itself in her throat. "I know it's stupid but... I suppose I just hoped it would go away if I didn't say anything."

"I am not angry with you, daughter", said Father slowly as they moved forward again. "Perhaps I might have been, but now I know what your aunt has been doing to you, and it is clear she did not mean well when she took you away."

Lothíriel nearly sobbed in relief. She had not lost her father's regard! So many things in her life were already broken or in disarray, and if he ever told her that he was ashamed of her, she didn't know how she would endure it.

He sighed again and whispered, "If you don't feel up to it, we can turn around and go back home. I could say you got suddenly ill."

The option was attractive, she could not deny that. He was giving her an easy way out of this, a chance to escape... but if she did run now, it would change nothing, it would just make her a coward. And she had run from Éomer once already. She didn't expect it would fix anything, but she owed him this much.

"I have to face him eventually. Maybe then we will both have peace", she said, fighting to sound determined. Father still seemed concerned, but she was able to conjure a smile for him.

"Very well", he said quietly and nodded. "It is a brave thing to do, daughter."

 _Maybe,_ she thought to herself, _but I wish I had been brave when it mattered._

* * *

The journey from the Mark had not been the most pleasant one. Weather had been warm even in Rohan, but it became unbearably so when Éomer and his company crossed the Mering Stream and rode southwards to Mundburg. The last stretch had been downright torturous in dry, dusty air; both man and beast were overjoyed when they had finally reached the cool shades of the White City. He had expected to meet Éowyn and Faramir there, but there had been some trouble in Ithilien which had delayed their arrival, but they should join the party in a day or two.

Éomer would not have minded spending the night quietly with Aragorn and Arwen, but propriety had its demands on them, and so he had barely time to take a bath and a quick rest before he already needed to join them for dinner. Then it was time to go and greet the first guests arriving in the Great Hall of Feasts. As ever, days in Mundburg were hectic and his status as an unmarried foreign sovereign attracted certain amount of opportunism. No wonder it was a continuing joke between him and Aragorn that some time they should just discard their royal mantles and go wandering the countryside as Rider and Ranger.

But however much he complained inside his mind, not all encounters were unpleasant. There were comrades in arms from the Ring War and friendly acquaintances made during its aftermath. He also heard it mentioned in passing that Imrahil was in the city and was expected to join the party tonight. There was indeed a chance he would be enjoying himself.

So he thought until the moment the herald announced the last name he had expected to hear tonight.

"Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth and his daughter, Princess Lothíriel!"

It was a good thing Éomer had just emptied his glass and a servant had snatched it away. Had it been still in his hand, he might have dropped it in shock. She was here!

His expression must have become a strange one and his eyes glazed over, for the elderly lord he had been talking to needed to raise his voice to get the Rohir's attention back.

"My lord, are you quite well?" the man asked at last loud enough to get curious glances from a group of southern nobles.

"I'm fine", Éomer snapped even as he fought the serious urge of turning towards the doors of Merethrond. She was here and her presence felt like it was drawing him in... dare he look at her? Could he do it without growing as angry as he had first been?

He had thought – had hoped – he was moving on. But clearly it was not so, if the prospect of seeing her made him feel so intensely!

Éomer shook himself. This was not the time or place to lose his grip. In a desperate bout, he looked at the man he had been talking with, and the question came out before he could stop it: "Say, what do you make of Imrahil's daughter?"

The old lord looked a little surprised at first, but he cleared his throat and made his answer.

"I have heard no ill spoken of her. She has not spent much time in Minas Tirith until she came here with her father a few weeks ago. What little I have seen of the girl, she seems quiet and thoughtful – not at all your usual court butterfly. But that sorrowing look of hers reminds me of her late aunt, Lady Finduilas", he said at last and nodded emphatically, as if to make it clear this was the furthest extent of his opinion on the young lady. Éomer shuddered. Éowyn had said Faramir's mother, the very Lady Finduilas, had withered and died young...

He muttered something affirmative to the old lord's statement. Aside from it, he was hardly aware of anything that happened around him next, for his mind was too much in tumult.

He was going to have to meet her. Propriety demanded it – she was Imrahil's own daughter, and at the end of the day she was still the one who had saved his life. Éomer was not afraid, he was simply worried he could not hold his temper in check. How _could_ he look at her and not feel his anger and hurt over her betrayal once more?

The fifteen minutes that passed between the herald's announcement and Imrahil steering their way through the crowd were not enough for Éomer to collect himself. From the corner of his eye he saw them approaching, inevitable like the rising tide. Imrahil's tall figure and a slighter one next to him... moving with the light gait of a trained killer.

"Éomer, my friend! Welcome to Minas Tirith", Imrahil spoke as he reached the Rohir's vicinity. His tone was not quite so serene as it usually was, and Éomer guessed it was because he knew full well how utterly uncomfortable all three of them were about to be.

He turned to face the man and his daughter, trying not to seem reluctant. It would send entirely wrong implications about how fondly he regarded the House of Dol Amroth.

"Imrahil", said the young king as he was still moving, "It's good to see you."

And there they were, father and daughter standing side by side. At once Éomer felt like someone had punched him in stomach, because why hadn't he ever realised how much they looked alike? Both had those clear grey eyes and in many aspects, _her_ features were a feminine version of her father's. Yet there was also some promise of unusual spirit and fire there that set her apart among all the Mortal Men and all the women he had ever seen. It was like yet another punch to notice that she was rather lovely, her hair tumbling down and wearing a light blue dress that flowed like sea-foam. How he had dreamt of black hair...

But the longer he looked, the more he saw. She did not seem like the brave, spirited woman who had journeyed and fought by his side. She was pale and thin, listless like one who has long been ill. Her eyes were without the shimmer he remembered. Where was the fearless young maiden who put herself against pirates? Was this reaction merely because of the unease of having to face him at last? He couldn't say. And yet, as moments lengthened and neither of them were able to say anything, Éomer thought he could see a brief flicker in her eyes.

"This here is my daughter, Lothíriel", Imrahil spoke, interrupting Éomer's wildly racing thoughts. His first thought was to be surprised, but then he remembered he had not been introduced to her properly in public. No one knew how close they had almost become.

"My lord", she greeted him softly at last, even going as far as curtsying at him. Éomer felt like something very unpleasant twisted in the bottom of his stomach. She was talking like they were complete strangers!

"My lady", he responded in any case, offering her a stiff bow. His reason screamed, telling him to get away from her right now. The longer they were face to face, the harder it would be afterwards... he had thought he was improving – getting rid of her, little by little.

She would be back in full force after this, he was sure of it. And he, he was the fool who could not let her go.

"I hope your journey went well, Sire?" she spoke still in that same demure tone that was so unlike her. It vexed him to the point of wanting to shake her, if just to see what her reaction would be. Éomer was not sure what he'd have expected of their reunion. Cool distance or mocking arrogance? False tears or some misguided attempt to charm him once more? All those options seemed much more likely than this... this broken spirit.

It was like she felt _regret._

But that could not be, and he hardened his heart.

"It was fine", he answered in clipped tones and folded his hands behind his back.

"Are things back to normal in Rohan? I imagine there was quite a stir after your return", Imrahil remarked for his part. At this point, all three of them were just struggling to keep up the small talk.

"Aye, I had an uproar in my hands when I came home. It is all settled now", Éomer said.

A few more pleasantries were exchanged between them. Imrahil kept up the conversation, while his daughter stood in silence next to him. But her eyes never left Éomer, who was finding it hard to stand calm and still under the scrutiny of those eyes he had known and started to love. He grew more and more tense, until he could not stand it any more and he glanced at her once again.

She said nothing – just stared right back at him in a way that made him shudder.

Thankfully, it was then Imrahil decided they had tortured each another quite enough. A few more words were exchanged, along with promises they would talk more about the matter of corsairs tomorrow, and then the Prince smoothly began to steer himself and his daughter away. But that was not the end of it.

Slender, calloused fingers brushed against the back of Éomer's hand as the pair passed by him. And then, quiet words spoken in soft feminine voice: _"Ferthu Éomer hal."_

He froze right there and stared after her. But her back was turned and her head bowed, and he could only wonder what this meant.

It felt like a _goodbye,_ the kind you speak when you expect to part with someone forever.

At last he got himself moving. The air was too warm and he needed some air, lest he choked on the mixture of anger and confusion and fierce pain. What kind of a witch _was_ this woman, the way she knew just what strings to pull with him?

He more or less charged out into the garden and nearly knocked over an elderly couple taking a stroll. Éomer muttered his apologies as he passed them, but their offended looks implied they were most shocked with his ill manners. He strode forward blindly and his hands trembled in powerless fury.

Fresh air helped only a little, but it was enough to help him get back his composure. For a while, Éomer wandered aimlessly. His breathing evened and sweat that had started to gather against his neck cooled down. When the heat of emotion passed, he felt strangely empty. So this was to be the conclusion of their partnership? This bitter, twisted thing that could well be true or false, and even he couldn't tell the difference...

With a groan, he sat down on a carved stone bench and rested his head in his hands. The skin where her fingers had brushed still burned with the memory of her touch. He felt trapped. What could he even do here? What would it take to be able to move on? And yet was there any hope of it while all it took for her to put him off balance were three little words?

Minutes passed as he sat there, and Éomer might have brooded away for a good while more. But on a path nearby he heard steps and soft rustling of fine dresses. There were some tall bushes in between, so that he remained invisible.

"I wonder what is ailing Imrahil's daughter. She looks ill", said a female voice idly from behind the bush. Éomer grimaced silently. It appeared he simply couldn't escape her!

"It's unseemly of him to bring her here if she is not well. One would assume the air is better in Dol Amroth for one so sickly" a second voice, deeper but also female, commented. It sounded like they halted, maybe to admire something in the garden.

"Perhaps they came to consult with the healers of Minas Tirith. Not even Prince Imrahil can boast having equal to their skill at his disposal in Dol Amroth", the first one noted. Now Éomer was finding himself growing more and more restless again. Yes, he had noticed too that she didn't seem well. But did the two unseen ladies really need to press on this matter? Angrily he thought _she_ must be fine if she could attend the ball.

"It is always a sadness when a maiden withers. She is so young, and all her brothers are strong and quite vital", the companion observed in a pitying voice.

"Perhaps some weakness does run in the line. Her aunt, the late Lady Finduilas, died young – much to the grief of Lord Denethor. May they both rest in peace", sighed the one who had first spoken. Éomer nearly stood up and interrupted them right there. _She_ had never seemed weak physically or mentally, and that was not the case here, even if she was ill!

"Yes, but wasn't it agreed at the time the Shadow hastened her death? And have you met the other aunt? I doubt Sauron himself could face down _her",_ snorted the woman's friend and they both let out a low, humourless laugh.

"Indeed. It was often said back in the day that even if the whole of Gondor fell, Princess Ivriniel would still be left standing. But you never know where the apple falls, don't you think?" was the last comment to reach Éomer's ears, and then the pair went along to enjoy their walk in the garden.

He remained on his seat, staring into the growing shadows of summer evening. Over the course of past weeks, he had often wondered and doubted. Some nights sleep wouldn't come because his anxious thoughts grew too loud. It had got a little better with time, and _she_ was not there as much as in the beginning. But tonight they had been face to face for no more than ten minutes, and it had still caused this onslaught of emotion... he had tried to deny it, but now he saw how wrong he had been to think it could be just ignored to death.

They were not finished. It was not over yet.

He had to go and see her one last time.

* * *

If someone had asked Lothíriel how she got through that ball with her mind and sanity intact, she would not have known what to answer. Afterwards, she only remembered the slow torment of having to smile and pretend she was perfectly well, while her true desire was to flee the too warm hall. And there was the memory of _him,_ too: his fierce, accusing eyes, the hard expression on his face when he looked at her... and yet she had not been able to turn away. In the end, she was not like to see him again. She had dreamed of him for too long to be able to look away. And no one was in her eyes as _him._

Lothíriel did not know whether it had been wise or not, but she could not end it without some kind of a goodbye. So she had reached to brush at his hand – the life that would never be hers – and whisper the words she had learned long ago in his tongue. _Ferthu Éomer hal_. Would it make things harder? She didn't know. And yet, everything had already gone crooked, and she was owed at least a farewell.

Somehow the night reached an end at last, and she returned home with Father. She pleaded weariness and headed to her own chamber straight away, even though it was many hours until she did sleep.

Lothíriel knew she was not in the best of shapes next morning. But fortunately for her, Father was too preoccupied with the meetings he would have this afternoon. He got this way sometimes, bringing important papers to breakfast table and reading and reviewing them while he ate. So her listless appearance went unnoticed as long as she commented whenever it was needed. Father was human and he was a prince. She didn't expect him to notice things that were, ultimately, so small. For this afternoon, he would have to talk about corsairs and relationships between Gondor and Rohan. He didn't need her burdening him.

He spoke of these things to her, and she listened and commented where she could. She had insight to the character of these people, for she had observed them when they had still thought her a street rat of Dol Amroth. But eventually Father had to go. He rose swiftly and kissed the top of her head when he walked past, and Lothíriel was left pretending alone that she was eating.

Slowly the spoon in her hand fell down and she was left staring at the plate before her. How beautiful was the light of morning, and how strangely thin her fingers... did anyone ever pay attention to the beautiful work of silversmiths of Minas Tirith? For only in her home had she seen cutlery as delicate... and she thought of _his_ hands on these things, the light he would have brought to the places she used to know. To dance with him in the halls of her childhood, or to bathe in the sea together, or ride over green plains that would only exist in her dreams now. How fine would it be to take his hand in her own and sneak through the dark, laughing quietly as they went... it was gone now, and so was he.

Éomer was gone. Last night had made it clear he was not coming back to her. She may as well accept that fact and try to move on with what scraps she could find.

"My lady?" spoke a servant's voice from her left, snapping Lothíriel from her reverie. She looked up quickly.

"What is it?" she asked and arranged a blank look on her features. Emptiness was the best answer.

"There is a message for you from Harlond, my lady", said the servant and put a small sealed scroll in her waiting hand.

She took it and thought nothing. It was fine, stiff stuff her family would use. Maybe members of her family were here without an announcement? But why would they direct this letter to her instead of Father?

Well, it was meant for her. That couldn't be a misunderstanding.

She opened the letter and read:

 _Child,_

 _I have come for you. It is high time we had a long conversation between ourselves. You have been too long without proper guidance. Would you truly abandon your mentor like this? Is it really your wish to forsake all that we have achieved together, or did your faithless father make you believe you needed to leave me? Lothíriel, you know that you owe me better than this. Come for me in Harlond._

 _Your loving aunt_

She stared at the letter and wondered. What more was there for her? Where could she go from here? The old woman had come all this way for her... and she had no doubt Aunt wouldn't follow her to the ends of the earth. Her mentor's skill and cunning far excelled her own. What point was there in running? After all, Aunt would be there for her, however twisted it was. No one else could even hope to understand her. All else was dust and shadow and she, she was a fool to have lingered and refused her mentor for so long. What was she waiting for here when it was clear she was too far gone to live the life she wanted? This one thing she knew how to do, even if she was never going to be as good as her predecessor had been. She might never find peace or contentment, but at least with Aunt, she could do good for Dol Amroth. Maybe Ivriniel was right to reject human attachments. Maybe being alone was not so bad in the end.

He, he was gone. She needed to let him go. And her own foolish hopes were but fanciful dreams of a child. The sooner she could dispose of all this, the better it would be for herself.

Lothíriel folded the message in her hands. This was the thing she ought to do all along. Maybe at last she was strong enough to go through with it.

"I will need a couple of Knights to take me to the harbour", she spoke to the waiting servant at last, cold and without feeling. How she managed that indifference was not clear even to herself. But she knew it was finished. All was finished.

"Very well, my lady", said the servant and he took his leave to get a couple of knights for her escort. Lothíriel stood up and headed slowly for her own chamber to change her shoes and hide the letter. She knew Father would not understand. There was no way she could explain this to him... to anyone.

Maybe after a time they could learn to accept it – both of them. Or maybe at that point, she would be enough like her aunt not to care anymore.

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** Here's an update for Friday! I hope you all have a great weekend. :)

I really liked writing this chapter, especially the bit where Imrahil and Lothíriel go riding together. It felt good to give her some healthy, normal bonding. But I also enjoyed writing Éomer's POV. Poor man really is quite confused right now! But I also think he has finally resolved that he needs some kind of a closure. They can't just ignore each other to death - even if Lothíriel thinks he now hates her enough to do just that. Meanwhile, Ivriniel continues to be her old, manipulative self... I think Lothíriel has not yet been away from her long enough to really break that hold Ivriniel has over her, and so she is not able to refuse when her aunt asks/commands her to come to her. Moreover, though Éomer surely would not intend such a thing, meeting him does make Lothíriel vulnerable again. It's not easy for her to see him and feel all that guilt and grief, and yet love him still. But neither is it easy for him!

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

 **RubberKidney -** What can I say? When I got my torture wheel rolling, it is hard to stop! :D But I am glad if this story has so captured you!

 **heckofabecka -** Unfortunately for them both, Imrahil also has his duties at the side, and Ivriniel is one sneaky old snake. She's not going to just let go like that.

I imagine Éothain's words are already doing the biting! Éomer's stubborn pride can go both ways, after all. Now that he has resolved he needs to talk things through with her, it is going to be hard to stop him!

 **Merakia -** That is quite right! But unfortunately, he doesn't know the lengths his sister will go to keep her pupil. And Ivriniel never really surrendered. She just saw that it was the wrong place to fight, and instead chose to make her move at another time.

I'm afraid the letter is not yet addressed: only Éowyn (+Faramir) and Ivriniel know about it. And Ivriniel surely isn't going to say a word!

But anyway, Éothain may have shaken some feelings that are even more rattled here!

 **EStrunk -** I think she saw right away it wouldn't be possible to keep Lothíriel from leaving. But that doesn't mean she's ready to give up the fight. Anyway, I'm glad you liked that scene between Imrahil and Lothíriel! It's been great writing them bonding in this story.

Cranky Éomer is surprisingly fun to write, no matter the cause of his crankiness! :D And I hope you liked this chapter with Minas Tirith bits!

 **sai19 -** Glad to hear that! I really like the parts with Imrahil and Lothíriel, too. :)

 **Wtiger5 -** I think Imrahil really just needed someone to say "look at your daughter for a bit". I mean, he did have his own suspicions already, but he simply needed that one push.

And you were quite right about Ivriniel making an appearance in Minas Tirith! I'm sure she made certain no trace of that letter would ever come to light. As for Lothíriel, I think she was starting to heal, but meeting Éomer again like that put her in a very vulnerable place - and so made her an easy target for Ivriniel.

 **Katia0203 -** I hope you also liked this chapter's bits with them, too! I think Minas Tirith woul indeed be a good place for her to start, and she would have progressed, though perhaps slowly. But the events that put her off balance are still so close that meeting Éomer maybe derails what progress she has made. Obviously, he would never want that, if he knew the full truth. But Lothíriel thinks he hates her, and having to meet him like that is not going to impact her well.

 **Anon -** I have to admit, I didn't foresee this either! After the first chapter I did realise I would have to explore the abusive dimension of Lothíriel and Ivriniel's relationship, but it has gone deeper than I expected and taken the story to places I didn't guess! But it's been great exploring that angle, because it's so unlike the stuff I've written until now.

I believe Lothíriel and Éowyn would indeed become great friends, were they given some time. But as of now it seems like Ivriniel has other ideas!

 **Wondereye -** Éothain does know Éomer very well, and he is not afraid to point out things Éomer himself is trying to deny!

 **Jo -** I'm so sorry to hear about your Mum! My condolonces to you and your family. I hope you'll be all right. 3 And it humbles me if my stories can be helpful at all.

 **Laure -** Glad to hear that! :)

 **Doranwen -** You were quite right! Ivriniel was not going to give up just like that.

Éothain has no trouble seeing through Éomer, indeed!


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

Éomer's resolution to go and meet Lothíriel for one final time gave him a measure of peace he had not felt in weeks. He was able to focus on being social and pleasant company for the rest of the evening, and afterwards to sleep more quietly than he had ever since Pelargir. Of course, he knew confronting her was no guarantee of anything. Maybe it would bring him even more pain. But it was also clear that there would be no moving on until he did this thing.

He woke up early next morning. There would be plenty of time, because the first meeting would not be before afternoon. He got dressed and had a quick breakfast, and when he was ready, he instructed a servant to inform Aragorn of where he had gone. Éomer had not yet been able to tell his friend the full tale but perhaps after today, he could.

Now that his mind was made up, Éomer strode quickly to the sixth level of the city and after the gate guards had given him the directions to Imrahil's town house, he made his way there. He thought of the things he would say to her and wondered how hard she would resist – if she would try to avoid confronting him and flee once more. But she would not find it easy.

When he arrived at the town house, Éomer did not even need to announce himself or his business: the guards in the blue and silver livery recognised him right away and allowed him in without a question. Wryly he thought there was some advantage about one's reputation preceding oneself and entered the courtyard. It was busy with the ordinary goings of a noble's household. A few Swan Knights here and there, a stablehand leading Imrahil's horse, servants chatting away as they went in their labours... but the entrance hall of the house was quiet and empty as he stepped inside. Bright morning's light washed the hall. Banners of the House of Dol Amroth were proudly displayed on the walls and there was not much in furniture. It had an impersonal feel, like Éomer had just come to some kind of an office of the state.

All these thoughts fell from his mind when he saw that he was not alone.

She had come so quietly, it was as though she had simply materialised there. She stood some ten feet away from him, silent and motionless and her eyes wide as she stared at him in shock. Éomer stared right back. Words died on his lips, because for all he had tried to prepare for this moment, he had not known how deeply he would feel at seeing her again.

A minute passed by while neither of them spoke. Éomer wondered again at how changed she seemed, and what could have caused it. A fanciful thought rose: maybe she felt regret over the way things had ended between them. But he did not dare to trust this idea.

It was she who at last broke the silence.

"My lord", she said in a shaky voice, "what are you doing here?"

"I am here because I think we have been avoiding this long enough. It is time we speak honestly with one another. After all we went through together I hope you can give at least this much", Éomer said gravely and stared hard at her.

Red spots appeared on her face, bringing there some colour for the first time since last night. She lowered her eyes and stared at the stone floor. Was it shame? He couldn't trust his first instinct, not when he was not sure about her.

She moved forward and tried to go past him. But Éomer stepped swiftly to block her way.

"You ran away once. Did it do you any good?" he asked her sharply. She flinched as though he had slapped her.

"I can't -" she mumbled and tried to step around him again, but once more moved to stand before her.

"You _can._ I know you do. You were not a coward when we were together. Why are you acting like one now?" he demanded. His temper threatened to rise, but he fought to hold it in check. If he began to shout and rage, it would only push her further back into her defences.

"Please, Éomer..." she whispered, avoiding his eyes.

"Tell me the truth. Do I not deserve that much?" he said to her and stared at her hard. His hands itched to grasp her, to try and make her look at him straight.

"What does it matter anymore?" she asked quietly and did not lift her eyes. At least she wasn't trying to get away anymore.

"Well, it might bring us both some peace. Or have you not felt it? How wrong it was to end things without a goodbye?" he asked her fiercely.

The colour on her face deepened, but he could also see her expression growing more pained.

"I know I failed you", she said, almost too quiet for him to hear. "I know you did not deserve it. I wish... I wish I could explain."

"What is stopping you?" Éomer asked loudly and saw her flinch at the question. His confusion grew. Nothing about this was making sense! The way she had just left, making him think she was heartless and deceitful, and now seeing this very real agony... what was the truth? He feared he would go mad if he did not find out.

"I... I left because..." she stammered and fell silent for a second. She wiped a hand across her eyes before attempting to go on, "I was afraid."

"Why?" he wanted to know and noted how anxious his voice came out.

"I was afraid of not being enough. That you would eventually start to regret uniting with me... that I couldn't really be the queen you wanted and needed", Lothíriel answered slowly, sounding like she had to fight to get each word out. Still she stared at the floor, and she was winding her arms around herself as though she would otherwise fall apart. But suddenly she glanced up at him and said, "I felt that the agony of leaving you would be less than losing your affection. Former I could live with, but I don't know if I could ever bear the latter."

Éomer blinked in utter confusion. The way she spoke... however misguided her reasons, she had not made her choice heartlessly.

"Did you really trust me that little?" he asked at length. Without his noticing his hands had become fists, trembling at his sides.

"I did not think of it that way. I would trust you with my life. I was just... I could not imagine how someone as good as you could really keep loving me. You deserve better than me. And yet, if I had come to tell you goodbye, you wouldn't have simply let me go. You would have fought to change my mind, and I... I would let you do it. I would _want_ you to do it", she answered, her voice growing weaker and then again a little stronger as she spoke.

Deep regret washed over him. His fists opened. Something told him this was indeed the truth. It had to be, because if she had been pretending, then she would never have said such things. She would not be in pain, but laugh at him and speak cold words. Only truth could cut you in this way and like he had suspected, it did not put his mind to rest. In fact, he was fairly sure it was something that would torment him long and bitter.

"I wish that you had spoken of these things to me at the time", Éomer said quietly.

Lothíriel let out a small sob.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for what I did, and I... if I could take it back, I would. I shouldn't have left you. I can't stand knowing that I ruined everything. And it kills me to think that... that you may spend the rest of your life thinking of me as a deceitful little monster who never cared about you at all", she said, and it was a wonder she was able to say these things so coherently when her voice sounded like it was close to breaking. And at the end, she did begin to cry indeed.

Had Éomer been a cold man, he might have taken vengeful satisfaction in seeing her suffer like this. But he was not cold and he did not think the world needed any more pain and grief than already was in it. Not when she so clearly regretted her actions... not when it was obvious that there was still love in her heart for him.

And this woman had saved his life.

He couldn't simply watch her weep. So he crossed the space between them and put his arms around her, and in a heartbeat she accepted his offer of comfort. Without hesitation she tangled her own arms about him and pressed her face against his chest. There she sobbed as one would in the middle of complete heartbreak.

And Éomer felt strangely unwound. It was like glimpsing at some truth that had eluded him until now, and he marvelled at how _right_ it still felt to hold her close, even when both of them were so full of regret for how things had ended. In that moment, all of his anger and hurt and disappointment were just _gone._ All he felt was sympathy for her and grief for understanding the depth of loss. In her heart of hearts, she had not wanted to go.

But if she had not wanted it, _why_ had she left? It could not just be fear. For this woman was more than capable of facing her fear and overcoming it.

While he was thinking of this and trying to arrange it into a question to speak to her, Lothíriel had calmed down and composed herself. She pulled back a little and wiped her eyes with both her hands. They were red and puffy and it still made his heart soften.

"Sorry. I had thought of what I would do if I saw you again, and this was not it", she said and let out a tearful little laugh as she tried to wipe at the now wet spot on his shirt, where she had wept only moments ago. Éomer saw that behind the veils of sadness and pain in her eyes that spark still lived; that glimmer of light he had loved. And he could see that if he should just extend his hand to her, forgive and let his own pain go, she would take it without hesitation.

"It's all right", he uttered quietly. He let his arms fall down and tried to decide what he should do now. While he wasn't certain what he had thought to happen, this was... somehow her grief and his own choice to try and comfort her had left him utterly bereft. And there she just stood, quiet and watching him with those puffy eyes of hers, and he knew neither of them had any idea of what to do next.

It would be so easy to just extend his arms again and pull her close. But did he dare to go down that path?

Could he trust her again?

"It has been good seeing you", she said before Éomer could collect his thoughts to say anything. Grasping her hands together before her, she said quietly, "I wish you all the happiness in the world... even if it is not mine to give."

He looked at her in wonder. It was obvious she did feel for him, and yet she also seemed to believe there was no going back. She would let him go, if that was what he wanted.

"Lothíriel, did you really leave because you were afraid?" he asked her at length.

She hesitated for a moment.

"I... I didn't know what else to do", she whispered and looked down. Éomer frowned and thought back on that day. What could have made her so scared that she'd leave like that? He thought of their last night together and falling asleep with his arms about her... he had not been able to make any sense of it. How _could_ you leave after something like that?

He thought of when he had ridden with Éothain to the port and joined his friends there. Lothíriel had been so close... but she had been with her aunt. Amrothos had gone to get her so that they could speak things through, but Lady Ivriniel had more or less kicked him out. And after that, the next thing Éomer knew was Lothíriel had left.

His frown deepened. Deep inside, there was a sudden sensation he was close to something vital he had missed until now.

"What did your aunt say to you?" he asked her, careful but still determined. He would get to the bottom of this thing no matter what.

She looked deeply conflicted. Fear and doubt marred her expression and he thought of how he had never seen one who was as lost as she.

"She... she said you only thought of me as a puzzle. That your fascination would soon turn into loathing", she whispered, once again winding her arms about herself.

"And how would your aunt know that? Does she know me better than you do?" Éomer asked her. His heart was pacing faster; instinct told him he was close to the truth.

Lothíriel looked up at him. Her eyes were wide, wondering. At once he knew _she_ was close to some realisation just as he was.

Where the conversation would have gone from there, he could not say. But it was interrupted abruptly. For one second, Éomer saw how she was grasping at her own epiphany, but then light dimmed in her eyes as they fixed at something behind him. It felt like some kind of a defence mechanism kicked in: hair at the back of his neck stood up and he knew he was being regarded by unfriendly eyes.

Éomer turned and saw her. The tall, aged woman stood at the doorway and stared at the two of them in silence. Her mouth was a hard, thin line and her eyes cold as ice. He looked at her for no more than half a second when a hand, small but strong, tightly grasped his own. Fingers squeezed his as though in mortal distress.

Lady Ivriniel was first to speak.

"Child, why did you not come to me like I asked?" she inquired in a soft but strong voice. Her eyes were now fixed on Lothíriel as though she was not even aware of Éomer's presence.

"I'm afraid I was keeping her", he said nevertheless.

Now Ivriniel's eyes met his own with a steely flash.

"Indeed that is what you have been doing", she said coolly.

Éomer stood straighter and squared his shoulders. He knew a challenge when it was thrown against his face.

"We fought side by side. I believe that warrants some kind of a friendly discourse. You have been been greedy enough for her time as it is", he said calmly and refused to look away. He knew what this woman had been capable of in her day, and probably still was, but he was not afraid of her.

"It is not greed", said Ivriniel firmly, "to worry over a wayward child."

"I wonder if you were worried for _her,_ or for _yourself",_ Éomer said, narrowing his eyes. He glanced at Lothíriel, and then regarded her again, longer and more deeply. She did not even look at her aunt but instead stared at him with wide, pleading eyes. In them was a scream for help. Her fingers were still wrapped around his, holding them as tightly as before. In his time, Éomer had seen a number of people in need. Yet these eyes captured his own in ways he had not felt before.

And then at last he understood: Lothíriel's decision to go and leave him had not been made freely. And after so many years under this old woman's influence, how _could_ she refuse her?

Éomer squeezed the fingers grasping his own, to let her know she didn't need to stand alone in this fight. He was not leaving her to the ancient spider's mercy again.

"How could you possibly understand, horselord?" Ivriniel taunted. "You crawl in the mud. Your world is so much smaller than ours. Do you not know what I did to train her? What I sacrificed? And yet you would take her away from her right place!"

He opened his mouth to answer, probably lash out in anger. But the woman by his side had already got all the encouragement she had needed.

"You don't get to decide that. It's not up to you who and what I can be, Aunt", said Lothíriel, loud and clear, with strength in her voice that had been missing until now. It was almost like another lady had taken the place of the wounded, sorrowing thing. Éomer looked at her and saw how proudly she lifted her chin once again. _There_ was the woman he had found and loved.

"Child, do not be hasty. Think of what you are doing. Do you really wish to throw away all that we have worked for and gained?" Lady Ivriniel asked, complacent and kind once more. Éomer could only marvel at how easily she shifted between her roles.

But Lothíriel's eyes were open now. Next to him she _seethed._

"I am not a child anymore! I have a name. And I have a will of my own, even though all these years you have tried to take it from me!" she said and her voice grew ever stronger as she went on. And still she held his hand in her own, tightly grasping him – for faith, for courage, he wasn't certain. But he was glad to give it. Éomer knew he probably did not need to say a single word more. He just needed to be here and let her take her own freedom.

"Don't you see? All that I did was to make you strong. You were doing so well, Lothíriel, and now you are going to throw it all away? Think of all the good you could do for Dol Amroth! Think of those who came before you! Would you betray them like this?" Ivriniel pressed on. Her eyes flamed, but her face was white as bone.

"There are other ways to fight. And I want to do that in light, where I don't need to become a monster in order to save lives or bring order to chaos. For it _is_ monstrous what we do. What things we have achieved together are not so important to me that I would destroy myself for their sake. That I would give up what life is in me just to exist as a bitter monument to people I have never even known. I want no more of these lies and shadows and manipulations. I am sick of it!" Lothíriel replied, speaking so quickly words nearly stumbled over one another. She had found her resolve and there was no stopping her now. And he – he was so proud of her he wanted to laugh.

"Foolish child", Lady Ivriniel said sternly, like she was berating a disobedient little girl, but he could tell she was no longer a match for her niece. Still the old woman pressed on, "you always had too much of your father in you. Like him, you let your soft heart rule your head."

"Maybe it's not wrong always. Maybe it's not a bad thing to _have_ a heart", said the fearless young woman, beating her wings now that they were no longer in chain. Staring hard at her mentor and jail-keeper she accused, "I was an innocent, Aunt, and you took me anyway. You lied to me. I thought you would help me become someone brave, someone who could inspire others to courage. And yet you made me something hideous! You would choke me to death just to feel better about yourself! And you still won't let me go!"

"Is that is to be your choice, then? To abandon your calling? Abandon your old aunt?" Lady Ivriniel asked. Her voice had become very low, and still her eyes burned. But to Éomer she seemed... diminished, somehow.

"I choose the one who accepts me as I am. Not as he wants me to be, or just the parts that are useful for him. I choose this man who treats me with love and respect and understanding and sees that I am and I can be more than just fractured parts that don't fit together", she said fiercely, until suddenly he saw some uncertainty return to her form. She turned to look at him, hopeful and a little scared as she said the words: "I choose him... if he will have me."

A moment went by in utter silence. A pair of grey eyes, alive and shining once more, regarded him with a question in them. _Will you have me?_ And Éomer knew then that he could save her, just as she had saved him. He could pull her with him to light. All he needed to do was let his hurt and betrayal go and take this chance... for if he should hold back, then this fire he saw in her now would surely die, and she would fade in the shadow of her aunt. Ivriniel would sink her teeth and claws in Lothíriel more deeply than ever before.

He could not let that happen. After all that he had seen today, he could not let this be the end.

Éomer lifted his free hand to wipe a stray lock of hair behind her ear. He rested his hand there against the back of her head and chose to forgive.

"Then come back", he said gently and smiled at her, "and you will have me."

Joy burst across her features like dawn. She let out a soft cry that sounded like a song, and then her arms snaked about him in an embrace so tight that a slighter man would surely have snapped in half. He received her gladly, cradling her against his chest. And she was sobbing again and babbling against his shoulder _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry,_ and Éomer felt so _relieved_ , like seeing one's home after a very long day, and he responded just as frantically _it's fine, it's fine, it's all fine._

No one had told him how good it felt to just _let it go._

He wasn't sure how long they stood there like that, clinging to one another and stammering their apologies and little confessions. He didn't know if any had arrived to witness this confrontation, or what they might think of it. But at long last, Éomer lifted his face, which he had until now kept pressed against Lothíriel's hair. And then he looked at the figure still standing at the twin doors of the house of Prince Imrahil.

Diminished she was indeed, now more than ever: just an old, bitter woman who had lost the only person who could in any way understand her. She did not seem like something threatening. Her features were blank, indifferent even, but now he knew it was merely a mask. Beneath it could be anything and he dared not guess what would _she_ feel in this moment. Was it merely his imagination, or was there some wonder in her eyes, as though she had just witnessed something she had thought was impossible? Pity stirred in his heart, much to his own surprise. He had not thought he could feel it for one who had so obviously manipulated others for so long.

Lothíriel was looking at her too. Her face was very grave, which was no wonder: she had to know she had just burned the bridges of her past.

For a second, it seemed that her eyes met those of Ivriniel. What did one feel at the end of such a relationship? Éomer could only guess. He hoped it was over now – truly over. The old woman had to see Lothíriel was not coming back. Even so, if this ancient spider ever came creeping by the way of Edoras... well, she would not find herself a welcome guest.

Lady Ivriniel turned and stepped outside without another word. Then she was gone and Lothíriel let out a deep, heavy sigh.

"I'm sorry it had to end like that", Éomer said quietly, turning his eyes back to the young woman who still stood with her arms around him.

"There was never any other way it _could_ end", she said softly. "It's all or nothing with her... and I can't ever be safe while she is around. My aunt... she doesn't know how to let go."

He frowned and held her a bit tighter.

"I'm sorry about everything. I should have realised what was happening. I would have come after you, had I known", he said in a low voice. If he had just trusted her... trusted his own instincts. It was dreadful to know how close it had got he had lost her.

"It's not your fault. You reacted as anyone would... no one knew what she was doing, not even the rest of my family", Lothíriel said and her eyes grew veiled. She sighed, "But Éowyn did. She saw through me the moment we met."

"Aye, of course she would. My sister sees a lot more than people usually do", Éomer agreed. But to himself he wondered why hadn't Éowyn send any word to him. If she had figured this out before now, why wouldn't she tell him?

Well, he would find out when Éowyn arrived. Now he was too glad to worry about anything. When he looked at the young woman before him, he felt like his shoulders were light again and his heart easier to bear. She was back. She had never meant to leave. And now at last she was free.

Maybe he was, too.

"I missed you", she told him quietly, tiptoeing closer. "I missed you so that I thought I would go mad."

"Likewise", he murmured and bent his head to her. "Promise me that from now on, we trust one another and fight side by side?"

"Promise. I will never fail you again", she said fiercely, smiling in a way he had not seen her do before.

And then the waiting became too much. They had been without this long enough. So he cradled her by the back of her head and kissed her at last, and once again he felt that sensation like coming home. It was a sweet kiss, as sweet as forgiveness and finding one's way back to something that had almost been lost. Her fingers wound their way in his hair and she pulled him closer to her, bold and eager. It was no spider's kiss. This was something new.

This here was the kiss of a free woman.

* * *

It was a thing of wonder how quickly things could turn around in a matter of few hours. At breakfast, Lothíriel had been ready to give up at last and go into whatever shadow her aunt had meant for her. But by midday, this bleak prospect had been utterly abandoned and she was heading down a path that held hope and promise.

Éomer was back. He had returned to her, he forgave her, and he knew the truth. It was a thing of such joy that she wanted to sing.

Confronting him had not been easy. Even more difficult it had become when Aunt arrived. She knew what peril it was, facing this subtle, manipulative woman. But there was an epiphany to seeing her before Éomer – how unafraid of her he was, and knowing him Aunt could never hope to bend to her will. He saw through them both. And somehow that gave her strength. She had reached for his hand and he had let her hold it through this final confrontation.

It was so simple and beautiful in the end. All she needed to find her own voice, her own wings, had been his faith and support. Just this one person who believed she was more woman than a spider or a deadly shadow. And it filled her with so much joy and relief that she did not care who came upon them in the entrance hall, where they stood embracing one another when it was all over, and each long kiss was followed by a several smaller ones, and yet it still wasn't enough. There was so much to make up for, and relief made her so giddy that nothing except her trembling affections seemed to convey all her joy and gratitude. His responses were just as heated and eager.

That was how Father eventually found them.

For when she was pulling back once more a little bit to catch her breath, there was a sudden sound of someone clearing their throat, and then a voice: "There's a story here that I would much like to hear."

She nearly jumped around at this wry announcement. Éomer seemed surprised as well, but his arm still remained about her as though this was merely a minor interruption. Heat rushed up her neck and to her cheeks. But Father, who was standing ten feet away, was smiling. He didn't seem at all angry or scandalised to have this scene happen in his own entrance hall.

Lothíriel exchanged a sheepish look with Éomer. Her face tingled from where his beard had rubbed against it, and her mouth... well, she was not sure her mouth was going to forget about _his_ any time soon.

"I beg your pardon, Imrahil", said the Rohir and sounded perfectly collected.

Father smiled beatifically.

"Whatever for? It looked like you were both enjoying yourselves extremely well."

Lothíriel boggled.

Father looked like his own boldness had taken him aback. But then he bid them to follow him, and he gave an explanation on his unexpectedly approving attitude after leading the two into his study. Once they were seated, he told them he had rather hoped for this outcome.

"At least, I did so until last night, when Lothíriel told me about your... fallout. Which is why I was a little surprised at first to see you getting along so finely again. But I admit it makes me tremendously happy, because my daughter has not seemed quite as glad in some time. Does this mean you have talked things through?" Father inquired as he poured them some wine and offered glasses to the two.

Again they shared a look, but it was more to decide who should answer the question.

"Aye, we have. It turned out there were some misunderstandings... I had let my anger get better of me instead of trying to find out what really happened. Yet after we met last night, I could not stand it any longer. So I came to talk with Lothíriel. But then Lady Ivriniel arrived, and perhaps that is good. It opened my eyes, at least", Éomer said in grave tones and she saw the way he frowned. This all seemed to trouble him deeply still and Lothíriel thought to herself they needed to have another long conversation about him not blaming himself.

"My sister is here?" Father spoke in surprise and some concern. "She did not send any word of coming."

"No, she wouldn't. She only had a message delivered to me when she was already in Harlond... I suppose she didn't want you interfering", Lothíriel said quietly. A shiver ran down her spine when she thought of what almost had happened. She had been ready walk into the clutches of her aunt once more...

Her refusal to appear and speak with her niece back before Lothíriel had left for Minas Tirith now made sense in a wholly new way. Aunt had not been giving up – she had merely laid low and waited for another opportunity.

Éomer's hand came to rest on hers and he squeezed it gently. She saw the solemn look on his face and was able to offer him a smile.

"I should have known she wouldn't give in so easily! By the Powers that be, will she ever let this go?" Father groaned in frustration and rubbed his temples. He cast a pained look at his daughter, "I am very sorry about this. I should have known she would come after you... do not worry for a moment, sweetheart. I will deal with her personally and send her back to Dol Amroth straight away."

"She's still family, Father", Lothíriel said carefully and bit her lip at seeing the fierce looks at the faces of two men who were dear to her. So she hurried to go on, "It would be untoward to send an old woman on a long journey like that when she has only just arrived."

"I will not let her stay under the same roof as you, daughter", said Father sternly. "Who knows what she will decide to do?"

"If I may suggest", Éomer said warily. "What if I were to ask Aragorn and Arwen's help? I'm sure they would love to give lodgings to Lothíriel. Though I do agree with you, Imrahil... were it up to me, that old witch would be driven back to Harlond at earliest convenience – and shipped back south in a locked cell."

"Staying in the Citadel sounds perfectly wonderful to me", Lothíriel hurried to say before Éomer and Father could go on longer and come up with hideous punishments. "Please, don't take action against her. Don't look at me like that – I know just as you what she has done and I don't condone any of it. My pity for her is not ignorance. But I will not have her wrongs answered with more wrong. She's still my aunt and your only living sister... if you think it is horrible what she did to me, try and imagine what was done to her to make her this way."

The two men did not seem to know what to say to that. She sighed and held Éomer's hand a bit tighter.

"I don't think you need to worry about her anymore. I have this feeling... I saw how she looked at us today. There was such wonder, like she couldn't believe her eyes. She couldn't fathom Éomer forgiving me, and yet she saw it happen. She has no idea of how to deal with this. Father, I think my aunt knows it's over now", she said slowly, trying to make sense of the conviction that had formed in her mind, shapeless but true.

Maybe Ivriniel had just not thought it was possible to forgive after the hurt and betrayal she had tried to use to separate them... that you could care about someone so much you would choose to put aside your own pain and try again.

"How can you be certain, daughter? Are you really sure she'll let you go now and not try to take you back, even at the cost of harm for Éomer?" Father asked carefully and cast a concerned look at the Rohir. The man by her side let out a low growl, as though to say _let her try_.

"Trust me, Father. I know her in ways you never could. You think she is heartless, and surely she is capable of hardening herself to a point that seems almost inhuman to us. But she does have a code", Lothíriel said an shook her head with a humourless smile. "And what could she do, even if she were that far gone? My aunt is old and has taught me all her tricks. She is not so subtle or swift anymore that she could fool me. Neither is she stupid. She knows I will be watching, and give hell to anyone who tries to hurt my king."

Whether it was because of her words or the hard tone she used, but neither Father or Éomer made more questions on the matter. Their faces had become very serious as they regarded her. Lothíriel gave them a small smile in an attempt to soften it a little.

Éomer looked straight at her, "I do believe you know better than either of us ever could. I simply want to make sure that you are safe. I can't risk losing you again."

"You won't. Not now. Not ever", she told him and squeezed his hand. The dear man did not seem to yet realise what he had done for her today... but in time, she would tell him the full extent of it.

"Well", said Father softly, and though he was smiling, there was also something bittersweet about his expression, "I believe the only thing left to do now is to give you my blessing. One just needs to look at the two of you to know how things are... I merely ask that you treat well my daughter, Éomer. She has been through things we can only imagine, and her happiness is of utmost importance to me."

"As it is to me", Éomer said and looked at her once more, and she felt like her heart might burst at the warmth that shone in his eyes. This was real. This was happening. And she had been so stupid to let Aunt make her believe otherwise. She almost felt like this single moment of just meeting his eyes and knowing that he forgave her and accepted her was something that could rid her of a lifetime's worth of poisoned words.

Suddenly, he rose up on his feet, and went on, "Though, before any blessing is given, I must renew my proposal. Even if at this point I'm not certain how I should ask you. As a king to a princess, or a soldier to a spy?"

Lothíriel rose, too, and took his warm, strong hands in hers. His fingers tightened about her own.

"Don't overthink it. Ask like a man asks a woman", she said softly.

A bright smile spread across Éomer's features, and she had this breathless sort of feeling – of truly putting behind the ruthless spider and being young woman who has found and fallen in love with a wonderful man.

"We have waited and wondered enough. Lothíriel of Dol Amroth, will you be my wife?"

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** I can't tell you how satisfying writing this chapter was. Bringing them together again and finally letting Éomer know the full story after all the angst felt pretty good. Plus, them confronting Ivriniel together seems to me the direction all this has been heading. Éomer represents this particular brand of courage to Lothíriel where you face things proudly and straightforwardly, which is of course different to what has been her own approach until now. But when he stands next to her, she finds she can be just as brave and finally take her freedom. In fact, I felt that it took both their effort to get there, because Éomer wouldn't know how, or wouldn't have the patience to address Ivriniel in a way that would truly get to her. And Lothíriel would need his support to be able to speak those words.

He does play a bigger part than just supporting her: the fact that he chooses to forgive her is also what finally repels Ivriniel. He does something she didn't think any man be able to do. Ivriniel was counting on his hurt and offence over Lothíriel's betrayal and she believed that his pride would forever part them. But his love and the sheer fact he's a decent fellow prove greater than Ivriniel's manipulations, and in that moment she understands that Lothíriel is truly gone from her. I think deep down Ivriniel has no trouble comprehending why her niece would choose this way, or seeing that it's ultimately a better choice. Perhaps at an earlier point in her own life, she would take that choice, too. But there's no way she could ever say this out loud.

As you will know if you have read my earlier stories, I do believe any story based on Tolkien's works should recall love that moves mountains - and, in doing so, forgives and lifts up rather than pushes down. From this love not only does Éomer finally let go of his anger, but also emerges Lothíriel's pity for Ivriniel, because she understands unlike anyone how truly, completely alone her aunt will be after this.

Thank you for reading and reviewing!

* * *

 **EStrunk -** No such luck! I think he'd rather handle it face to face. And I imagine it was a good idea to do so!

Also I'm glad if I managed to write that awkward moment so well. It was not the easiest thing to do, but I'm pretty satisfied with it, too.

 **Catspector -** Thankfully, he has an impeccable timing! :) He's not letting her get lost until he has had his say.

 **Anon -** No doubt she was in a really bad place in that moment, but Éomer is fortunately pretty good at shaking things up! I think all she really needed was just someone having her back - and because it was had by no one else than him, she comes back to life.

 **Boramir -** Thank you! :)

I think Ivriniel knew very well that Imrahil was going to be angry, but at the same time, she probably counted on having Lothíriel back under her thumb so tightly that her father couldn't interfere successfully again. And it probably was working, because Lothíriel's own thoughts at the end of that chapter were in that vein.

I don't believe Ivriniel would really go as far as harming Éomer. Like Lothíriel says, she does have a code, and even without it she would see that it would cause great damage to Dol Amroth. At this point, she would also be well aware that Lothíriel will never let her hurt him - and if Ivriniel did go that far, it would just earn her niece's lasting hatred.

But there is also that last flicker of decency in her that recognises the love between the two. She sees that Lothíriel truly does love this man, and he is actually able and willing to forgive her. It basically shakes Ivriniel's world view to the core. But it's also something she can't manipulate or break, and this she knows at once. In that moment she understands she has lost.

 **Wondereye -** Well, he does! :)

 **Jo -** Thank you! :)

 **Nerdanel -** It was great to write, too. I don't usually write that much between just two of them, so it was fun to just let them be together as a father and daughter. :)

Ivriniel wouldn't give up so easily, not while she thought she still had a chance and believed Éomer was out of the picture. But she was really quite wrong!

 **Doranwen -** Yes, he's happy to get in the way! ;) I hope you liked the confrontation!

 **Leilal -** Glad to hear that! :)

 **Merakia -** She wasn't just going to stand down! But I think she has now finally realised that she can't get Lothíriel back. In the end it was just as they had thought before: with Éomer by her side, Lothíriel has all the strength and the will she needs to break free!


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

He proposed to her.

Lothíriel's response was as swift as it was joyful, and for a while, she and her bridegroom filled Father's study with almost unseemly amounts of laughter and kissing. But the Prince himself did not mind. He was still wearing a smile on his face by the time the two were able to break apart, though perhaps he looked a little bittersweet.

She noticed it too, and wondered out loud if all was well. Her father waved his hand to console her.

"It is all right, dear daughter. It just seems that I only discovered you again so recently, and now you are already going your way. But it is well. After these past few weeks, seeing your joy makes me happier than I could ever tell you", he merely said. In the quiet of her thoughts, Lothíriel considered that perhaps Aunt Ivriniel could take a lesson or two from her father.

It was agreed Lothíriel should go straight to the Citadel with Éomer. While Lothíriel was convinced that her aunt had finally understood she was fighting a lost cause, Éomer did not wish to take any chances. The way his eyes followed her revealed his renewed conviction: they were not going to lose each other again. And she agreed wholeheartedly. She would hold on to him now, even if he abruptly suggested she ride straight to Rohan with him. In her giddy mood, she probably would comply to such a mad, impulsive plan.

From Father's study she hastened to her bedchamber, where she flitted around collecting her things, and a maid tried to keep up with her while folding clothes in travel chests. Lothíriel packed most vital of her things very quickly and gave orders to send the rest after her. It took her no more than ten minutes to get ready, and then she half ran to the entrance hall, where Éomer was waiting. He was talking with Father, feet apart and hands clasped behind his back – standing like a warrior even now. Perhaps some noise alerted him, as he turned to look the way she was coming. His solemn look broke into a smile as he reached his hand towards her. Lothíriel could not help but grin as she went to him and reached to grab his fingers. With a beaming smile he caught her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the knuckles lightly. Warmth grew in her breast when she thought of how good it felt to be around him; this ease of being felt like she was able to breathe again. It was as though she had come back to life.

"Ready to go?" he asked her softly and squeezed her hand.

"I am", Lothíriel replied and smiled at him.

In the courtyard, they were joined by a pair of Swan Knights and Rohirric Riders who had accompanied Éomer. If they were surprised to see their lord exit the house with her by his side, they did not show it – although the younger of the two flashed a bright grin when he saw his king holding her hand. Momentarily she wondered how Éomer's people would receive her, and if they expected her to be a proper lady of Gondor. But then, the one person whose acceptance really mattered to her was Éomer himself. Perhaps that was enough for Rohirrim, too.

They made for the Citadel, talking softly about idle nothings. There had been enough heavy conversation today and things that yet remained unsaid required a certain level of privacy. But even then, they made no secret about their intimacy, and her hand remained in his all the way. What would the folk of Minas Tirith think of this display? King of Rohan walking hand in hand with Imrahil's quiet daughter who rarely went anywhere without her father and wore outdated dresses... would they assume Éomer hoped for a meek, obedient little wife who would never defy him? Well, in time to come she would prove such assumptions wrong, and stand beside him as strong and bright as she could possibly be.

So they entered the Court of the Fountain and found Queen Arwen there with King Elessar, as though they had known to expect them. The King and Queen of Arnor and Gondor were seated next to the White Tree, conversing softly, but they looked up as Lothíriel approached with Éomer. She wasn't sure how much they knew – she had shared some bits with Arwen – but suspected the amount was fair, considering the smiles that lit up their faces.

"Good day, Éomer. Princess Lothíriel", King Elessar greeted them as he rose from his seat.

"Good day to you both as well", said the Rohir and glanced at Lothíriel before he spoke again. Straight to the point, as always – the thought made her smile.

"I was wondering", he said softly as he squeezed her hand, "could the Princess stay with you for a time? There's a situation back at Imrahil's house."

"Nothing bad, I hope?" asked Elessar, but Queen Arwen smiled like she already knew everything.

"No, my lord. It's just my aunt arrived in the city, and... me being under the same roof as her right now is not the best of ideas", Lothíriel said for her part. Not that she doubted her earlier conviction that Ivriniel finally knew it was over. But it did not mean she felt comfortable near the old woman.

The King and Queen shared a quiet glance before Elessar looked at the two again.

"It would be our pleasure to have you as our guest, Princess. I shall have rooms prepared for you as soon as possible", he said gently and smiled. But Lothíriel also saw him casting a curious look at Éomer. She knew them to be close friends, and there was going to be a long conversation about this all between the two.

"Thank you, for both of us", Éomer said and then turned fully to look at his bride. "You'll be all right? Just send for me if there's anything, and I will come."

She smiled at her husband-to-be.

"I know", Lothíriel merely said and tiptoed to kiss him quickly – and chastely, as one would not wish to offend the King and Queen of Arnor and Gondor with rampant displays of intimacy. Though, perhaps, a pair like them might be better suited to understand than anyone else.

When she pulled back and saw the way he looked at her, she felt... she felt _safe._ There was no other word for it, though it was not exactly a feeling of reassurance against some danger. Rather it rose from being sure about him and not having to wonder if she was good enough. She could trust to see him later on – and trust that tomorrow would be full of promise. For the first time in so many years, she felt truly at peace.

The two kings took their leave of them, heading for the Tower of Ecthelion. Arwen gestured Lothíriel to take seat next to her, and once the princess had settled down, she made her question.

"So, it is over, then?" asked the Half-elven queen. Her bright grey eyes twinkled.

"Something's over", said Lothíriel softly, and then smiled, "But something's also started."

She looked the way Éomer was going with King Elessar by his side and felt her heart grow in her chest with love and warmth. With Aunt she had always wondered, but now she was sure.

The tender sensation was quick to turn to mirth when she heard him speak to his friend.

"Do you think Imrahil will be a very difficult father-in-law?"

Aragorn was not the only one to throw back his head and laugh.

* * *

His mood and the difficulty of keeping his thoughts from Lothíriel made it not the easiest task to focus on the matters discussed at the meeting. He was able to shake himself when Aragorn explained what had been found in the interrogations so far. As far as he and his officers had been able to find out, the pirate crew had been on a mission to get some intelligence on Amrothian fleet's level of preparation and surmise the strength of Dol Amroth. But having encountered the King of Rohan with moderately small guard, they had gone rogue and decided to act.

As for whether this all meant another war was soon to come, after rigorous interrogation Aragorn had come to conclusion that it was not yet likely, though there were many in Harad who lusted for vengeance. The two kings and their company agreed it would probably escalate into a conflict eventually, but not as soon as they had feared. For now, they could still put their minds to rebuilding and preparing... or family, as Éomer thought to himself. How soon would Imrahil allow him to marry Lothíriel?

The meeting came to an abrupt end when a guard entered the council hall and announced the imminent arrival of Prince Faramir and Princess Éowyn. The two guardians of Ithilien had finally come.

Éomer was on his feet at once; there was no time for protocol when he was anxious to reunite with his sister. Aragorn just smiled and told him to go see her.

But Éomer was not the only one eager to meet Éowyn and Faramir. At the same time as he entered the Court of the Fountain, Lothíriel too came. Her eyes were wide and eager when she joined his side and took his hand. The gesture was timid at first, as though a part of her still feared their reconciliation would not last, but he squeezed her fingers gently. Her grip instantly became steady and sure.

"I didn't have a chance to ask", he said as they halted to wait for the travellers, "How did you like Éowyn when she visited Dol Amroth with Faramir?"

"She's wonderful. She's so strong but kind as well. I didn't have to pretend anything with her", Lothíriel said and smiled fondly. "And she reminds me of you."

"She does?" Éomer asked, and then thought perhaps it made sense. He smiled as well. If this did not promise a friendship between his sister and his bride, he did not know what would.

"More than you know", she replied and tiptoed to quickly kiss his cheek. He closed his eyes briefly in pleasure and marvelled over the sensation of warmth and peace that glowed in the centre of his chest. He would much have liked to pull her in his arms and kiss her properly, but perhaps such display should be postponed until they were in some place less public.

There was some bustle at the gates of the Citadel, and then he could see them coming: Éowyn striding next to Faramir and looking as anxious as he felt. But then she saw Lothíriel standing by Éomer's side and holding his hand, and so Éowyn's face was lit by an enormous smile. He couldn't help but grin back at her.

His sister leant closer to her husband, whispered something to him, and then hurried forward to meet Éomer and Lothíriel. Her smile was beaming when she came and her arms wide open as though she meant to grab them both at once. The hug she gave to her brother was as Éowyn's hugs always were – tight almost to the point of crushing one's neck.

When she was giving Lothíriel similar treatment, she was grinning and saying, "It's so good to see you both! I take it you have talked things through? I knew you could work it out if you just wanted to! You got my letter, didn't you?"

Éomer glanced at Lothíriel and then looked at his sister again.

"What letter? I haven't got any since you left Emyn Arnen and sailed south", he said. Come to think of it, this was an unusually long gap between their correspondence; he knew she tried to make up for her absence by writing him often. But he did not complain about it. Éowyn had a life of her own and he wasn't going to make her feel guilty for living it.

A small frown now overcast Éowyn's smile.

"I wrote to you from Dol Amroth and asked to deliver it in haste. I thought you had made mistake about Lothíriel, and put blame on her when it belonged to her aunt in fact. Didn't it get to you, brother?" she asked in doubt.

"No such letter ever came to me", he replied. He was frowning now, too. For he had wondered before why wouldn't Éowyn let him know if she had figured this out, but this answered the mystery in full. She had tried to contact him – had tried to tell him everything! And without her letter, if he had not by chance arrived at Imrahil's town house at the exact right time, Lothíriel would probably now be forever gone!

The two siblings were silent for moment. Realisation hit him and judging by the flash of fire in Éowyn's eyes, she had the same idea.

"Ivriniel", they both spat the name at the same moment.

"Oh, that old witch! She'll be sorry when I get to her!" Éowyn snarled, while Éomer was still processing the outrage and trying to decide whether it was in poor taste to go after an old, crippled woman.

"You need help with that?" he growled, almost biting at the words to get them out. His blood was boiling. How dare she! Did her insolence know no boundaries? Did she not realise what insult she had made? Or that their friendship with Imrahil was the only reason Éomer did not raise hell for this? Her deed could have caused serious damage to the relationship between Rohan and Gondor! And all because she was a stubborn old harpy who could not let go of her favourite toy!

"Please, don't go after her", Lothíriel spoke suddenly, reaching both for his forearm and that of Éowyn's.

Both their indignation must be showing quite clearly, for she hurried to continue, "I'm not defending what she did. You have every right to be angry. Just... don't you see there's no punishment in our power that would make her repent? She'd never admit to doing wrong."

"Lothíriel, don't you see what could have happened? Don't you understand this is not acceptable?" Éomer asked in a low voice, trembling in his fury.

"Of course I understand! I'm angry with her, too. But... what I mean is..." she said anxiously, searching for right words. She sighed and went on again, "My aunt is an old woman. It's too late for her to change her ways. And the only person who in any way understands her is gone for good. I was her successor and she has lost me. She failed, you see, and that is a punishment far more serious than anything we could do to her. She will spend the rest of her days alone and bitter."

That was a sad fate indeed. Did Ivriniel know she had it before her? Did she understand the full meaning of it? Éomer could not say. The old woman was not stupid... but she could be in denial. On the other hand, how could he claim to know her better than Lothiriel did? Even if Ivriniel didn't grieve knowing she'd be alone, maybe her failure was a greater pain than any retribution could ever be.

He looked at his sister. It seemed like the worst of her anger had been muted, perhaps by similar notions as he was having. Her frown was not so fierce as before – instead, she seemed indecisive and frustrated... wondering if she could just let this insult go. Meanwhile, Lothíriel's gaze moved anxiously from his face to Éowyn's as she waited for their answer.

Éomer turned his eyes to her and felt a little surprised. Even after everything her aunt had done, she could still pity her like this. It made no sense to him. But then, it was such a short while since she had broken free, and perhaps there had been good things between her and Ivriniel, too. What would it do to her if he and Éowyn insisted on payback? Perhaps right now she simply needed to be able to let go, to see that her judgement was valued by him and Éowyn... to really just leave Ivriniel in that dark place she herself had escaped. And when Éomer looked at this woman who could be both brave and lost at the same time, he knew it: his hate of Ivriniel was but a pale thing compared to the love he felt for Lothíriel.

He directed his eyes at Éowyn once more.

"What do you think?" he asked her and noted that his voice sounded now much calmer.

She let out a sigh and then shook her head slightly.

"Well, it would be a lie to say I don't want to go and show her just how displeased I am", Éowyn said slowly, "but Lothíriel is my friend, and perhaps she has greater understanding in this matter than we do."

She regarded Imrahil's daughter with a slight frown and asked, "Are you sure she deserves your pity, though?"

"Maybe not", Lothíriel answered softly, and then looked at Éomer once again, "but a like a good man taught me, cold-hearted retribution is not the answer."

What small vestiges of fury remained mellowed at hearing her words, and seeing the gratitude in her eyes. It was buried under a wave of warmth and tenderness, and he could not help but reach for her with both his arms and pull her close. She was not the same ruthless killer he had first met at the pirate ship – this here was a woman who had lightin her heart, who wished for that light despite all that her aunt had tried to teach her.

Lothíriel wound her arms tightly about him and rested her cheek against his shoulder. It did not matter to either of them that this display took place in the very Court of the Fountain, and many were there to see it. With a soft sigh he buried his face in her dark hair.

He closed his eyes and felt at peace.

* * *

The happy day came to a night at last.

Éomer let out a deep breath when he closed the door of his guest chamber behind him. Servants had come and gone, leaving lamps for his return, some water for washing and small treats for a late night snack. He doubted he could put a single bite in his mouth, though; as ever, Aragorn and Arwen's hospitality was abundant and tonight's supper had been no different. They had known to prepare for the happy announcement Imrahil had made in his and Lothíriel's behalf, and thus offered a proper feast to their entire company.

Now formally his betrothed, Lothíriel had never stopped smiling by his side. Often her hand found his under the table, her fingers interlacing with his. Having her there, along with Éowyn and some of his dearest friends, made him so happy it felt almost unreal after weeks of bitter resentment.

But even the happiest of nights must end, and eventually the company dispersed. Lothíriel stayed with him the longest, and Imrahil remained close by due to demands of propriety. But either the Prince was feeling particularly lenient tonight or just wanted to indulge his daughter after her ordeals, for he discreetly turned away his eyes when the newly betrothed pair lingered in an embrace and whispered their sweet little words to one another.

After one more kiss he had told her good night, and promised to see her in the morning. He did not particularly want her to go, because there was still so much to talk about, but Imrahil's understanding was not like to extend to them spending the night together. So a handmaid appointed to her by Arwen then escorted Lothíriel away, and Éomer, in imitation of a happy sleepwalker, made his way to his own rooms.

He poured himself half a glass of wine before raking a hand through his hair and throwing off his shirt. It felt good to be rid of it at last. Though the sun had set, it was still very warm in the city. Then he took seat to unlace his boots and kick them off, relishing the feel of air against exposed skin.

Éomer sat back and sighed. It was late, but he did not really feel that tired. So much had happened today and his agitation showed no signs of going down. He thought of Lothíriel again and what she was doing now – if she felt as restless as him. Things had been even worse for her as of late and he couldn't help but worry a little. Today had been a turn for the better for her, hopefully, but what if her aunt's shadow still haunted her? And he had so much to make up for, seeing the way he had almost left her to the old witch's mercy... he couldn't help but want to go to her right now...

The young king snorted to himself. Éowyn would tell him he was hovering. Well, she would be right. It was sometimes difficult trying to downplay his overbearing concern for those dear to him. The deaths of Uncle and Théodred had not helped him one bit and he knew full well he had been an absolute nightmare first couple months after the war. But considering Éowyn had not yet stopped talking to him, either he had not gone too over the top, or her patience was of supernatural degree.

He picked up his drink and finished it in one go. Maybe Lothíriel wanted some space. Ivriniel surely had not given her any freedom or independence, and Éomer was not going to make the same mistake. She would come to him if she wanted to – if she needed him.

Even if he ached to be with her.

This notion dampened his mood, and he was about to down his second drink when a soft rapping sound at his door interrupted him. He put down the glass and went to see who had need of him at this hour.

Lothíriel stood behind his door, fidgeting her hands and glancing nervously from side to side, and then to him. Mixed feelings rose: he was glad to see her, but also began to worry if something was wrong.

"What is it?" he asked right away and tried not to sound overly fussy.

"I was just..." she started in a small voice and considered her feet for a moment before continuing, "Can I stay with you tonight?"

His heart leapt.

"Of course", Éomer hurried to say and stepped back to make way to her. "Please come in."

She did so, but still looked a little uneasy. The smile she gave to him was awkward, so unlike the beaming one she had worn before.

"Sorry. I didn't want to bother you... I just couldn't stand the quiet in my room. I don't think I could sleep alone", Lothíriel explained in apologetic tones.

"You have nothing to apologise for, Lothíriel. And you are not bothering me", Éomer said quickly as he pushed the door close behind them. He did not even stop to think if she had been seen coming here; he knew full well she wouldn't let that happen.

He then placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and went on, "In fact, I was just thinking about how much I disliked your absence. But I thought maybe you'd like some space after recent events."

Her smile was not awkward now, but neither was there any humour in it. She shook her head.

"Trust me, I've had nothing but space since I came here with Father", Lothíriel muttered and looked away for a moment. Then she met his eyes again, "I was afraid if I fell asleep alone, I would eventually wake up to see everything was just a dream. And you'd be gone again."

"That will not happen", Éomer said firmly and then extended both his arms towards her. "Come here, you foolish thing."

She complied eagerly, pressing close against him, and her fingers brushed against the skin of his back. Abruptly he became aware of how her cheek felt against his chest, and the way her soft hair whispered in contact with him... and it was quite difficult to ignore her warmth, glowing through her light robe. He ground his teeth to hold back a groan. He couldn't get excited now. This would not go any further than she specifically wanted.

So Éomer just focused on breathing and brushing his hand against the back of her head and her hair, letting her decide how long she wanted to be there.

At length she shifted back a little and looked up at him with a smile. Her expression had now grown easier and calmer.

"Thank you", she said simply.

"My pleasure", he answered and planted a gentle kiss on her brow.

Once he had put out the lamps and drawn back the covers on the bed, Éomer noticed her hesitating again, shifting anxiously in the bright beam of moonlight that streamed inside. But it only took a gentle gesture of his hand to get her moving, and once she had dropped her robe she was slipping with him under the covers. With a soft sigh, she settled down against his side and rested her head on his shoulder. It felt perfect.

"I missed you so much", she whispered after they had both found a comfortable position against one another. "Though I'm not sure if you understand how deeply you rattled my world. Nothing made sense anymore after you were gone."

"I missed you too", Éomer replied softly and tightened his hold about her a little, "And while I tried very hard to deny it, the truth is you rattled my world, too. I was so angry... it wasn't easy to admit that I only felt it so strongly because you already meant so much to me."

He felt her shudder and take in breath to say something. And he already knew what it was.

"You don't have to keep saying you're sorry", he told her firmly. "It wasn't your fault. I see that now."

"Still", she whispered and her voice vibrated against his throat, "I keep thinking I could have been stronger... if I were stronger, I could have spared us both from a lot of pain."

"Don't you see, woman? You already are strong. How else could you preserve yourself for so long and not become like your aunt?" Éomer pointed out. Indeed, how could one take all that and not break? In days to come, her strength would not be put to enduring lies and manipulation. It would be the rock where the Riddermark would be built anew.

"Just... thank you", Lothíriel said at length and lifted her head to kiss his cheek. "You saved me, too. Not just from her, but also from becoming something hideous and cruel."

His heart grew so great with tenderness that he did not know how to contain it, but even so he felt compelled to point out, "To me it seemed you did your own saving quite well."

But Lothíriel scoffed against his skin.

"Don't you see? I was about to go straight back to her when you came to Father's house. I never could have done it without you there... you standing beside me and defying her. I was terrified, Éomer. But you were not, and you stayed even as she said those horrible things to you. That's why I could do it. You make it all right even when I'm scared", she said, speaking vehemently, her fingers clasping tight at his arm.

And what could he do then, except kiss her?

She responded eagerly. While he wrapped both his arms about her, she sighed in contentment. Her slender fingers cradled his head and caressed his hair, while his hand slowly ran down her back.

It went so for some time, but as the kisses deepened, so did their hands grow bolder. Unable to hold back anymore, he cupped her through her thin night shift. She let out a small whimper and leaned tight into the touch. Trembling against him she lifted her leg over his hip to bring him closer to her.

Éomer knew what he wanted. And it would be so easy to go through with it. But even then he broke the kiss and looked at her... asking without words if this really was what she wanted, too. So much had happened today, and perhaps, given the chance to consider it, she would feel like they were moving too fast.

A pair of bright, determined eyes met his own. She breathed in short, shallow gasps and did not move to break the intimate embrace. Her fingers were shaking as she brushed them through his hair. Her warmth, the nearness of her body... it was intoxicating.

"We never did things very conventionally", she whispered at length, husky and heated.

"No, we didn't", Éomer replied, forcing himself to stay still. "There was never a chance for that."

"Well, I don't want to start now", she said after taking a deep breath. "And I know how I feel about you."

"You don't wish to wait?" he asked quietly. His voice came out so hoarse, it almost didn't sound like his own.

"No. I have spent all my life waiting in the shadows. Now you are here and I don't want to waste a single moment more. Were it up to me, I would ride with you to Rohan when you go, and not be parted again", she said to him, solemn and firm.

There was enough of moonlight to see her face and meet her eyes. She remained there against him, hands in his hair, and looking at him as boldly as only she could. There was something bright in her now, unlike during their breathless quest to flee the pirates, and he knew it was because she was free at last.

Free to live... to choose to love him. It was a staggering thought: she had emerged from shadow _for him_. Until now, he had not understood what it meant to change someone's life in such a profound way.

With a gentle hand he cradled her face, smoothing his fingers against her cheek. He had loved people in his time, but never had felt this kind of tenderness for anyone – this certainty and the peace that came with it.

"I love you", Éomer said softly, leaning closer to kiss her brow.

The grip of her hands grew tighter.

"I love you, too", Lothíriel answered in a trembling whisper. Then she closed the small distance between them and kissed him once more.

There was no hesitation now, no holding back. Grasping her by the back of her thigh, he brought her closer still, and only gave in when she tried to pull up the hem of her night shift. There was clumsy impatience and fumbling hands as they both struggled to get rid of remaining articles of clothing.

And then he had his hands against nothing but bare skin. Her warmth, her strength, her softness... it was like a dream. She shivered and moaned when he ran his fingers across her skin and sought the sweet, sensitive paths no one else had explored until now. And she was bold, too, like he had instinctively known she would be.

Lothíriel was his match – a consort in ways that no marriage contract could define. This was clear to him now in a deeper fashion than many a thing had been in a long time.

The heat grew. Her touches and movements against him became more demanding. And he ached for her, ached so very much because she wanted him and this was not a union of convenience, she was not some dutiful lady of the Mark picked from a list of names. She was not in his arms because it was expected of them, but because they had found and saved each other, and always would, if the need arose. And he was not a king or a soldier, he was just a man who loves his woman.

Gently but firmly he pushed her to her back, seeking the space between her legs. She gave it eagerly. And she was so beautiful! Her dark hair was spread against the white pillow like a curtain, there was a lovely blush on her skin, and the light that shined in her eyes... then he was completely hers, and always would be.

Slow at first he came to her and she welcomed him, her eyes wide and shining. He moaned low and deep to feel her like this for the first time – and to want to feel her over and over again. _Lothíriel._ The name and the person he had not thought to find, to fathom and love, and here they were all the same...

They began to move. It felt good, as though this had been given to them a long time ago. Each thrust was met, and each caress answered. It was right. It was expected. _You're here, you're here, you're at last here..._

She spoke his name. She spoke it again, and again, and again. His name on her lips, above all others... and he drove close, finally knowing something that had been hidden to him until now, until he had met and known _her..._

His queen.

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** Not much remains to be said now, but I'm not finished yet. You'll see in the next chapter. ;)

I hope this one did tie up some threads that remained - for example the one about Ivriniel intercepting Éowyn's letter. I think for Éowyn and Éomer both there remains no reason to go after her now, especially because Lothíriel asks them not to pursue her. But like she said in the last chapter, her pity is not ignorance - she just wants to move on. And I think Éomer is helping her pretty finely in this chapter to do just that.

Thank for reading and reviewing!

* * *

 **ElvishKiwi -** Thank you for your message! I am glad to have made you smile. :)

I think that love is the way to redeem and save them both. In the end, they love each other so much that no device by Ivriniel could break it. And that is what I hope to convey with my stories: one's love can overcome unpleasantness like hers.

Yeah, I think it wasn't as unobserved as they thought! ;) At least Imrahil's staff knew what was going on before they even set a foot out.

I'm glad you like both Imrahil and Éowyn!

 **WaxingintheDark -** That was just the thing I wanted to write! In the end, Lothíriel ought to fight her own battle, but it's vital he's there. At least to me it makes a better scene than if he had been the one to do it, or she alone. Anyway, I'm glad you liked it!

 **Tibblets -** Indeed they are! :)

 **Doranwen -** I'm glad you liked it!

 **lovelylykxz -** I'm not certain there will be much more, but we'll see!

 **Wtiger5 -** I do think it's more than just realising that Éomer can't be bullied. I hope the story conveys how his ability to forgive Lothíriel and the fact that he askf or his forgiveness at all are something that overthrow Ivriniel. She sees this thing between these two people and is at last able to understand that no device of hers can ever break it. And that's what finally makes her give up.

 **Wondereye -** Well, I don't write stories like that! :)

 **sai19 -** It was great to bring them together indeed! Especially after everything they've been through. To me, it seemed Lothíriel should be the one to confront Ivriniel, considering she's the one who has been enduring her aunt's influence all this time. Obviously Éomer's presence is vital, but _she_ is the one who does this thing and finally takes her own freedom.

 **EStrunk -** I couldn't just let them be parted, could I? :) It felt right to me that Lothíriel should be the one to do the confronting, and Éomer just really being there both as a catalyst and a source of strength for her. That's what he has been before, so it would seem right that he doesn't stop now at this crucial moment.

I have to admit, the bit about asking as a man asks a woman was something I enjoyed especially well, too!

 **Jo -** Remember to breathe! :)

 **Anon -** Things are looking good, indeed! It seemed like a fitting end to me as well that they would confront her aunt together!


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

 _4_ _Fourth Age, Edoras_

Like he often did, Éomer of Rohan was sparring with a Rider of his guard. Though he was not as new to ruling anymore, training grounds and battlefields were still his element. It took a lot more time to take the war out of a man than just a few years.

Not to say that he wasn't trying, though. There were things now in his life that made him appreciate peace in ways unlike ever before. And yet, perhaps that was just the thing that made him a fiercer fighter than he had been in the days of his angry, lonely youth.

He had never had more to lose than he did now.

He was beating back his opponent, throwing strikes in a rapid flow. His sparring partner was left to trying to manage them and holding him at bay. But both knew how this fight would end, and so Éomer began to slow down. He had nothing to prove, except perhaps occasionally to himself. The Lord of the Mark was a warrior king and he could not let himself grow soft.

But then, as he was about to finish, he felt a hand against his lower back, and soft feminine voice: "Got you."

Éomer spun around and the hand fell from his back. There behind him stood the Queen of Rohan, arrayed in her riding attire. She had been outside with a few of her friends, and upon return found it impossible not to sneak up on him. She never used a real weapon, though; she didn't want him to think it was an actual assassination attempt and have him jumping to attack her.

Even so, after all this time, Lothíriel still enjoyed an occasional sneak.

He offered her a smirk.

"Well, now that you have me, you rascal, what will you do with me?" he inquired her. He kept his tone light, even if he felt some annoyance at being surprised by her once again. He had been trying a couple of years now, but still did not catch her as often as he would have liked. It had been articulated between them soon after the wedding when she had caught him in a dark corridor and "finished" him.

"In a fair fight I would never beat you. But you are king and enemies of the Mark will not come at you fairly", Lothíriel had said softly, one hand sneaking under his shirt. She surely had a very unique idea of honeymoon.

"You think there are others like you out there?" Éomer had asked quietly, more than eager to let her win _this_ fight.

"Perhaps. Who knows? Either way, I just want to make sure you are safe... even when I'm not watching your back", she had whispered and tiptoed to kiss him.

Now similar treatment cut the wings of memory. She leant closer to him, wrapping her arms about his neck. And he pulled her close, for he had no weakness such as _her._

"I think I will do many things, O Lord of the Mark", she whispered in his ear and let her hands travel across his back. It felt too good to care about who was witnessing this moment of tenderness.

"That sounds just delightful", he told her and would have kissed her, but ever the tease, Lothíriel pulled back and looked at him with that infuriating, enticing smile. Once she had realised how much he wanted her, she had made it quite a delicious game indeed.

"How soon are you done?" she asked him, sneaking her hand between them and brushing it against him. Vixen!

"In ten minutes", he answered and tried not to groan out loud. While he knew his men did not mind knowing the King of the Mark was quite happily married, he usually tried not to rub that fact against their faces overly much.

"Good", his wife whispered and kissed him at last.

* * *

Their son looked like her.

When she had finally pushed this little human being out of her body, Lothíriel had felt like she had accomplished a greater thing than anything ever before in her life. Here was something new – a brand new soul to act in the world and to be as good and bright as his father was. In Elfwine's eyes all sins of her past were absolved.

She didn't know what was the thing that got to her most. Was it indeed the resemblance between her and the child, or how he had Éomer's eyes, or the love and the laughter he brought to their home every day? She remembered so vividly the day their son, the heir of the Mark, was born: how Éomer had rushed into their bedchamber, all fear and worry, and then the way he had smiled when Elfwine was given to him... Lothíriel had watched him then, feeling so tired and worn from giving birth to a child, and yet in his joy she had felt like everything was made right. She had chosen right.

She had given Rohan a prince. But to herself and to Éomer, she had given something that was so much, much more.

Now that child was playing with wooden horses his father had made for him. His chubby little cheeks, the dark hair falling across his forehead, the dark focused eyes that so reminded her of Éomer... the boy was precious.

"Da's horsey", he announced seriously, showing her the great standing horse currently in his hand.

"Yes. That's Firefoot", she said softly, looking at the roughly carved features of the toy. Of course _his_ son would be so taken with this thing from the start... but there were moments she saw herself in the child. There was a certain sensitivity in Elfwine that reminded her of her own childhood.

"When ride?" he asked her, eyes wide and shining. She let out a laugh and ran her hand through his soft dark hair. Something told her that once he grew, they would have many arguments over when he could go and ride with his father. But then, could she blame _their_ son for wanting to take his place in the world and help to make it better?

"Soon. Your father said we'll be going to Hornburg in a few days. We'll see what Uncle Gimli has done so far", she told him and kissed his brow. Elfwine giggled and reached his little arms to her, and she caught him, this small but beautiful thing she would never have known without Éomer.

With him she had found so much _life._ Not just this child, though he surely was the best thing she had ever done, but there were so many people she had come to know in in the Mark. For the first time in her life, she had actual friends who did not lie or manipulate or treat her as an ignorant child. Éowyn had become the sister she never had before and correspondence was frequent between Edoras and Emyn Arnen. And among Éomer's trusted men and their wives, Lothíriel now had many she could laugh and talk with and know that her past did not matter to them. There were some that suspected or perhaps even knew that her life before marrying Éomer had not been what one would usually expect of a lady of Gondor. But it did not change the fact that she was the Queen of Rohan and beloved wife of their lord. To them she was Lothíriel, Lady of the Mark.

It was a role where she didn't have to pretend anything.

The door was pushed open, and there came the King of Rohan himself. Striding tall and golden, as he ever was, he smiled brightly at them. He was happier these days and more at peace. That certain tension she had noticed when she had first seen him in the courtyard of her Father's castle was now gone. And he was smiling so much these days, even to the point where several Eorlingas had come to thank her for making their lord such a happy man. Yet Lothíriel knew his happiness was not just her making. Becoming a father to this lovely little boy was at least half the reason.

"There you are, son!" Éomer said and picked him up from her offered arms, lifting Elfwine high in the air. Their son screamed in laughter and joy. Her horselord had been the natural parent from the start, and he still was better at it than her. No doubt in days to come, he'd be the one to understand the struggles their son would have to go through as he grew. But this was not a competition. They both loved this child above all, this child they had created of their love of one another. Éomer just knew how to be with people... and how to be with their son. He knew light unlike her – she had forsaken the shadow to live there with him.

There they thrived together.

"Da!" Elfwine exclaimed happily, and his laughter only grew when he received a kiss from his father.

"What are you plotting with your mother? Are you going to take down some Dunlending tribes, hmm?" Éomer said, cradling their son against his chest. This boy would never know manipulative family members; he would be raised in love, in light. And Éomer, even if he was king, would not miss being a part of his son's life.

He would be there for every step of the way.

"We were just talking about the trip to Hornburg", said Lothíriel. She grinned when he leant close and they kissed. The bearded sensation of his affections never failed to send a wave of warmth through her.

She was free. And what was most important, she was free with _him._

* * *

Another evening came. Dinner was had in the great hall of Meduseld, and then the King and Queen retired to put their son to bed. The Royal Nursery had an inhabitant for the first time in many years, and Lothíriel, knowing many songs from her own childhood, lulled their son to sleep. Her voice and the flowing sound of Sindarin never failed to enchant the infant to dreams.

There were times she hesitated, as though she was afraid of hurting Elfwine. Motherhood was not as easy for her as it was for some, perhaps because she had never thought it was possible for her. But it did not mean she didn't want this with all her heart. Éomer had seen the way she looked at their son when he was newly delivered – and still saw at times, when she thought no one was looking. It was the look of a wolf mother... and if any villain ever threatened Elfwine, they would know terror unlike anything they had imagined.

Some of his favourite times were the nights. They would sit together near the fire in the royal chambers, reading correspondence or seeing to their weapons, or talking... or just loving one another. Either way, he was happy. They were together, their son was close, and concerns of the world were away for a few hours. Yet if need arose, he could well picture them jumping from their seats, and then flying outside, side by side, or her as his shade... ready to guard him in whatever danger that threatened this blessed peace.

For Elfwine would grow up with both his parents, without anger, without doubt, and without shadow.

But tonight, that peace he had grown to appreciate these past few years was disturbed. For Lothíriel was reading a letter and it was making her frown in a way that truly alarmed him. What could upset _her_ was not good.

"What is it?" Éomer asked softly, putting aside the letter from Aragorn. His fellow king had been rapturing the joys of being a father, having witnessed the first steps of his first-born daughter. He knew that happiness very well.

"Aunt Ivriniel is dead", said Lothíriel softly as she put aside the letter. He noticed how her hands trembled. In her eyes, he saw a strange look. It reminded him of that lost, broken expression she had worn back in Mundburg, when they had met for the first time after Pelargir.

"Come here", Éomer simply said. He did not feel particular pity for the old woman, but he did worry about his wife. And he knew Lothíriel's relationship with her aunt was something else... maybe some old strands from Ivriniel's webs still held on.

She complied without a word. The letter fell from her hand and she moved swiftly, almost as though she was diving to his arms. He pulled her close, for he would console her griefs no matter the cause. He might never understand how she felt about Ivriniel, but he did know when he needed to be there for his wife.

Lothíriel curled up against him, knowing how and where to fit herself. She knew his lap better than anyone else.

"What happened?" Éomer asked at last in a quiet voice.

"She... she was sick. She didn't tell anyone, not even my father, until it was too late. She was actually on her death bed when she finally summoned him", she whispered. The grip of her hands around him was almost frantic. He ran his hands over her arm in a comforting caress.

"I'm sorry", he said to her, though he wasn't sure whether he was sorry about the sad and lonely end Ivriniel had finally come to, or that he saw how it hurt his wife. Maybe it was both.

"I wonder if she felt regret before the end. I never expected she would try to fix things with me, and maybe it wasn't even possible, but... still. I don't know if it would change anything or help me, but I'd just like to know if she felt bad about how things ended", Lothíriel muttered against his neck.

"She lost you. That is plenty of reason to feel regret. Trust me, I know", Éomer answered darkly and shuddered at the memory of those weeks he had spent thinking she was gone for good.

He felt her shiver too, and so he went on to speak, "She is free now and so are you. The circle is broken. No child of your Amrothian line will have to grow up like her and you did or sacrifice their lives to shadows. Lady Ivriniel was many things, but she was not stupid. Even if she never said it to you, she must have known that you found something better."

"Yes", Lothíriel murmured and relaxed somewhat in his lap. "I did find something wonderful."

They sat so for a while, just listening to the crackling of fire and each other breathing. Slowly, surely, some peace returned to the room.

"How do you feel?" Éomer asked after a long silence.

"I... am just sad for her. I wonder... if someone had intervened with her, like you intervened with me... could she have had a better life? But then, we are different. I wanted your light from the start",Lothíriel said, pressing closer to him as though she couldn't near enough.

"We are all masters of our own fates. And you chose me. I will never forget that... I will never fail to choose you, too", Éomer said softly. Then he pressed his lips against her temple. She was his shadow, his light. No other King of the Mark would ever have a queen like her.

Lothíriel turned to kiss him. Her bright eyes shined when they met his.

"I know."

* * *

Her husband slept slow and quiet.

He was so beautiful when he was at peace, breathing slow and even, his golden hair spread on the pillow. One arm lay extended where she had left his side – waiting for her to come back to him. She could be wrong about a lot of things, but not him. Not him.

Not the life they had made here. For in these five years, she had lived more fully than ever before, and the Mark felt like home in ways Dol Amroth had not been. Perhaps it was because here she had finally found a way to reconcile _herself._

If anyone ever threatened this fair and good thing, she would become their nightmare.

Éomer sighed in his sleep and mumbled something that sounded like her name. She smiled at the sound and felt something warm swell in her breast. It still astonished her at times, how much love she could feel for this man. Had she ever really used her heart before meeting him?

Maybe it was like the healers said. Heart is a muscle, and the more you use it, the stronger it grows.

Lothíriel added some wood to the fire to keep it going until dawn. Then she slipped under the blankets and the furs and snuggled close to the warmth of her husband. He opened his eyes and sought her lips for a sleepy kiss.

"I dreamt you were gone", he mumbled quietly.

"Silly. There's no other place in the world I'd rather be", she told him, making him chuckle.

His arms wrapped tight around her and he pulled her near. It had taken some getting used to, the bold and unashamed ways he showed his affection. But she liked it all the same. It was a warm, tender thing, not at all like the cold and methodical act she had been taught long ago. These days, the person she had been and things she had know seemed to be drifting further away from her. She imagined it was because spiders and their webs don't thrive in light and free air. And in laughter and songs of the Riddermark, shadows had no place.

"I do love you, Lothíriel", Éomer quietly spoke the words she knew to be true.

"As I love you", she whispered.

And because she did, she was here, with the man she had saved and who had in turn saved her. She was not a spider anymore, but a wife, a mother, a woman... _alive._

"Come here", Éomer growled and pulled her into one more kiss. She accepted it gladly.

After a while Lothíriel shuffled around to find a good position, and once her back was against his chest and his arm was securely about her, she decided it was a good moment to get back to sleep. Her husband's soft snoring swiftly lulled her to dreams, where she walked on green paths between the mountains and the great river. He was with her, too.

In a few hours, a golden dawn would rise again upon the Riddermark.

* * *

 **The End.**

* * *

 **A/N:** So here we are, at the end of another story. As ever, I hate having to end it, but there comes a point when you just know things are done and there's no more plot to make it meaningful to continue. And I think the characters have now reached a place where there's not more to say about them - except that they were happy and kicked some ass.

It's been a fun ride and it gave me a chance to explore some very interesting issues, like how the people we trust most can betray us, and yet how it's possible to grow and change and still find faith in others again. I hope it was as enjoyable for you as it was for me!

I'm not sure when I'll be posting a new story, though I do have something in the works. I'll see how soon I can develop it further into a proper story.

Big thanks to everybody who took time to read this story, to comment on every chapter, and add it to their follows and favourites! You guys are the best. :)

* * *

 **Doranwen -** I do think some fluff was necessary to end the story, after the way they had been separeted. :)

 **EStrunk -** Yes, at that point she just really needed to be over. And Éomer and Éowyn regocnise that. They also see how she's right about what Ivriniel's fate will be.

It was also great to write them being like that with one another! ;)

 **sai19 -** I'm afraid not much - like I said in A/N, there simply wasn't story left to continue. But it feels like a good place to finish this.

 **Anon -** I'm glad you liked it! To me it makes lots of sense too, to end the chapter like that. I also feels like something they both needed, in a way. They really are moving on - with one another.

 **Jo -** I take it that you liked it? :D

 **Merakia -** Yes, it was time to bring it to conclusion and give them a break. And you are quite right - the end is now here. It just feels like the natural place to leave this story.

I don't think her change was sudden, though it is a definitive moment for her. It's the point where she finally and truly makes the decision to become this better person and to change her whole life.


End file.
